Damon Hubbs

Wild Hunt

If you’d asked me five years ago 
I’d have said no way.  
I swear, Father. I’m not that kind of guy.
There was no precursor.
No seraph or tangle of thorns. 
No birds chirping Lo. Lee. Ta.

And yet here I am, at a country house
in Germany, fucking my niece.
I don’t know if it’s old Europe 
corrupting young America
or young America corrupting old Europe. 
What is the real land of opportunities—

Dear Father, I rode her 
like an eight-legged horse across the night sky;
my lance and reins slapped 
like the jowls of spectral hounds. 
How do you think I get ahead 
in the world—