Gone Lawn
a journal of literature
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Gone Lawn 13
Winter, 2013

Featured Novel Excerpt
New Works

Ae Reiff

What a Dog Coyote Sings AI-AI-OO-OO and Other Visions of Iisaw

The Indians call me Walto Dog. What-A-Dog. What-A-Dog! I sing myself and shake the hills. Stop this night with me and loose your throat.

Once a time in fairy tale
a dog would save the pekldfille.
Man he was all loving the pep0le.
Oh he went up and down saving the peoopel.
In alleys, down basements, protect,
pertect, peertect du peoplez."

But I don't like da doggie.
Do not compare me to doggie.
I don't like peple. .Pepel. Ya' think? Donot
me to

What am I, a sign of democracy? Nobody likes peo;le. That pahana peonist, Porky Borg, he come over you better pull out you sock. Better a door prize than a berm of dirt. Jacky Doodle. DOGGY DAY LILY

What'll it be today mum? Some tiger?"
"Slice me up the heart dear."
The pleoplle always the ploody pop-ple.


Every atom belonging to you belongs to me.
Remember all the nasty bait.
Down down doggy burrowed in the dirt, shot from plane!
By daffo-dog down burrowed and broiling fresh game.
Wulfs? I used to have books.
Like Lish did Carver, a peonist prom,
Walk a mile in my brudder don't mean wear him out the store.
I walk them holes with dogs and wolves.

Exterminate the rattlesank, pigens and oh, ya tried true stuff.
Uh huh, ya tried.
They seeks you here they seeks you there,
Little Tommy Tucker's dog, man they shot him down.
Doom down.
Man in the moon down.
Dogologist in wood, lover with fat pud, he down.
What'd ye say brethren? Every atom belonging to you belongs to me.

"Two for one.
Eat for Fun.
Join the corp
with Strum und Drang."

"I will use you tenderly," ♫ sings my supper and its Franklin mind. ♫
That franker. He down this season.
We all gonna be one Franklin!
A few light kisses and we all gonna be one Franklin till the buzzard come.
Grind on, grind on, don't make me prowl old campsites snooting cans.
Undrape! Undrape! What you assume I shall.
Mystically nude, out of the dimness I sing myself.
What's an idea dressed up as a meal? I had him next me at table, Bill.
Outlaw, I loafe, invite my soul. Have a blade of grass. OOOO!
A beverage and some treats. Diddle down them animals.
The two are one. Drink and eat. I see that as a law. On one you eat, but on two, what's a meal but a pie hopin' to work? The perp!
Coyotes meet in dormer, somebody gets hurt.
Bloody necks, bloody toes, hankering, gross.
AI-AI-OOOO! Blood flows.


This the gloam of coyote talk. We sing so why not talk? and if talk why not wait and write the unacknowledged verse? Indians call me Walt-A-Dog. I shake myself and sing.

From the river, like a snooting can, the rim sticks up. What's in it? Screeches, caves, trees, the same frustrations in canyons and on plains, not enough food. I was waiting when Gravel, Thump, a body rolled up. You order out? Delivery? Sauce? What won't come to one who waits? It was getting close to dark.

Knowing The Terrible, a tourist, fell from the Rim. Search parties were mounted, but had to be mounted again. He lay out the night. This is his predation.

The dust cleared. There sat an alpine hat with the bristle gone. And Swiss jodhpurs. Made me want to yodel, which you know is beautiful. Braised and beautiful without the bun. Take what comes. Strum and Drang. The roll? Mid age. Tender. Ready. I am putting on a napkin when my meal spoke.

Help, it said, help me, I fell.

Attn: Anaxagoras, Empedocles. This guy blind? Don't he yote? His eyes were full of dirt and swoll. He couldn't smell. They lost that. Didn't know I could talk. Played a trick, being bored. I said in my Best Western voice, "help is coming, just rest and let me look at that leg." I went over to lick the blood.

He said, that feels good, what's your name.

When the man asks you your name and he don't hear so good this is what you say. "Amo-le, from the Nahuatl." You know. A yucca to make you pucka. Talk about the luck, he was a literary agent! and me unpublished and all. Like he was a tour guide wrapped in one who wandered and fell down. In shock it began to talk, had repped Updike once and knew the New Yap strip poets. Wee tricksy there, but to entertain him with my poetic song, which he said he would be glad to hear, for we had the long night when no man can work. Talked funny. I executed my sequence on Not Being food. Close to the heart. Took some practice arpeggios and sailed in three quarter time.

I am a Samaritan of the cold. Bloody necks, bloody, toes, hankering AI- AI-OOOO! Gross blood flows.

The name comes from Watha, to quote the venerable Iisaw!

"He ate the corn,
He ate the fawn,"
he slay the bone,
coyotes complain.

Take a breath and let it out. That's what I'm talkin' 'bout. Heal my pain oh gob'ment! Oh inaprecio lastma!

The guy made no peep so I stopped. What ya think, he dead?

"Hey it reminds of those renaissance plays of Marston and Bruno, a kind black eye in the hole of lit. Do much misanthrope and the little presses will go. We have a piece about a guy who eats the universe. Piper sing that song again that merry pipe. Is there a second verse?"

So I piped my song to hear.

I loved blood more than berry and beetle,
I loosed blood more than Arthropod.
I'm no mouse in store for a tiny carcass, a wish for a centipede.
I seek the lame, halt and blind in my way, for impurity lives.
I'm a doctor, a healer. There to help I came, to introduce painless to pain.

You feel pain, scatter teeth, rename. Hiawatha What-A-Dog!.
I be down to get you in the broadcloth shrubbery
I see through the honey. Hiawatha!
Medium of change and exchange that forgives.
All pass but this, the blood that washes, commerce of the same. ♪

Take my comrade Clumsy Oaf who fell out the shelf. He delivered from a hole in the box and he bust.

♫ And now the warm white bread I eat.
Hig a pig a pop.
wants a helicopter to take out.
I show up.

Polly put the kettle on
this jug so empty,
and serve my frien.'
Loaf on the grass,
agued pie of my fast.

The best of the toothsome fat is the blab of the pave.
Folks who do damage, do the meal. ♫

He again, It has a nice naturalistic flair to it with the oral repetition, might have some appeal to the nature crowd.

—As I was becoming believed, I said, let me try out for you something I'm working on right now, It's called


Yes, he said.
By then his eyes looked even worse, filmy orbs that distilled a rheum and he began to cough.

How long have you had that cough, I asked.
It's nothing, he said.
I pretended to fuss over him then, conjured all sorts of remedies, but he said, "Enough," the cough's a mere nothing; it will not kill me. I shall not die of a cough. Sing some more, it helps kill the time."

So yet once more ye laurels and ye myrtles brown with ivy sere I come to pluck your berries harsh and crude hole in the box


A was for the apple.
I cut it up for food.
B was for the baby bird I visit after school.
We ate the hot fry.
D, when day was over, I could see the moon.
But my Binky could not rise.
Rise up you stars of stew.
I flown down a brandy,
a ruff-cask pooch with stuff.
Diddle down them animals,
Iron or ivory, with the nerve to call.
We get to know each other.
I am poet of Body and Soul. What-A-Dog Cosmos!

Can you speak?
That lantern make you flit.
We both got to fend for life and truth. I did.
My tongue, every atom of blood
Form'd from this soil, this air,
Poet of Body and Soul,
Born of parents there. Creeds in abeyance
I harbor a school.
Long that smile I feasted. What-A-Dog Cosmos!

Night was getting on by then. Entrainment evening faded like a ether bubble. Not that I was out of song, oh no, the word hoard glittered with raw jewel, beef in a deli, if you catch my flight. But the ruse was getting slight.

Long that mile I feasted I did. I said.
He groaned.
You speak? I said.
He had lit a lantern. "That lantern make you flit."
"We have gotten to know each other." I said

"My tongue, every atom of blood form'd from this soil, this air, poet of Body and Soul, born of parents here and there, held creeds in abeyance." I said, thinking of my lost chalice of evening, "I harbor a school of mice. Is it not fair that this exchange be consummated?"

Unknowing, terrible,
the tourist fell from Rim.
Down, down, down,
Down bedubby down
Search parties pronounced
had to be mounted again."

He starts to applaud. "Wonderful," he says, "a real flair for the unconscious. That name in there ai ai oo. I sounds like the cry of a coyote. I believe that could be something."

The name derives from Watha, I said, to quote what liver Iisaw said:


When you go to defeat your enemy
hang him round your neck like a bowling ball.
Make him into a god, hang his head inside,
put him on your wrist for life insurance.
Sell him to tourists. They need more gods.

Speak Space Voyager from the mountain side.
♫ "I'll be down to get cha in a broadcloth honey.
You better be ready so I won't be late,
you one nice dry pig. ♫

"There's nothin' you can do 'cept age and wait."

That's what I bin doin' Momma, waitin,' talking like a fairy poem.
Momma Noture, I got dandelion. I got hair.

ya dirty moth.
You ate a year.

Momma stopped by the kettle store. Weverboy's been walking round with nuts inside.
Weverboy's on a first name basis with a nut, he burn you like Holland then he rests.

You want a good hound?
I wear a hood of grey.

Gold locks, red locks,
black locks down,
Top-knot to love-cur
The hair wisps down.

A merry pumpkin said to me: I'm plumpkin and you were too. But he din't.
In the heart the button holds ordain the patterned world.

Mal-wole! Oh, oh.

Why oh why oh why-o,
Why oh why oh why?
Because, because, because, because
Goodbye, goodbye, goodbye.

"How extract the strength from beef? Every atom belonging to you belongs to me."
If you need savin' wouldn't you bring a horse?"

"My guide took sick Jack, jack he did, he died and now I'm waitin."

"But they told me you packed dudes in the states, that you know the country from Cheops to Tuklate. We planned three nights on the trail so I got provisions."

"Do not lick the face, son."

Momma! I know something. Course that is to tell.
One time I bit some hormone dame with tricksy breath. Civilization took a poll to find out who would press the beast!
It shall be you!

"I been down river, but never leading a cry..."

"Oh well don't worry about that son, I'm the leader!"


AE Reiff is open during business hours at Encouragements for Planting

The victim here, Leo O'Hearn, book agent, purveyor of manuscripts to the publishing Und, was the leader on that Spiritual Tour of the Grand Canyon. That he would rep Coyote no one doubts, but when he falls into Grand Canyon, succumbs to itsseduction as already analyzed by Pedro Escadero, he spends the night but not much more. Lest the reader think this story is the overflow of feelings recollected in tranquility, every sound and solecism was carelessly reconstructed over a decade, incorporating nursery rhyme, Walt Whitman, Milton, renaissance drama, Woody Guthrie, the Del-Vikings and Poe against a background of Mewingmuling mule speech overheard as one trekked the Bright Angel Trail.