For the South, With Love

After a discussion on the merits of Florida with a recently-relocated, black welding contractor

Walk with me to the edge of the moon
where we will extend death further--
any attempts to bury its blurring self
soon dug into, gouged with a fast approach,
your smile a thick blade to give answers,
my head looking down at all the gravel--
death only an extension of our fascination
with engineered polar opposites, frozen hands--

Edit: 1.2 (Sonnet Variation)

Walk with me to the edge of the moon
where we'll try extend death further—
so we won't cry any longer in red,
our days pressing the lengths of blood.

We will try and bury this blurring death,
digging it, gouging it open with quick slashes,
your smile thick to provide sharp answers,
my head muddled down to search the gravel—

Death extends our angry fascination, death
with its polar engineering, our frozen hands wracked—
we disabled rising to fall back to the ground,
to find a hung, damp chorus soiling graves—

The nails twist having reopened the earth,
and the palms itch with a scattered sensation—
I fear we will soon walk to the edge of the moon
where death will extend us even further—