Untitled ("We never took pigs off on the yard arms")

By Jack Joseph Smith

We never took pigs off on the yard arms but I would do a machitte at this point I have seen them alive across the sky They would over and over say fresh blood makes that meat the best So don't we know them They just think killing is better for your farm I take my short skirt and stand in front of the fan in my solitary room in my solitary room is not a wind But the air dosent the air is not a wind blow me to him It does not blow me to him it just raps me down It justs raps me around I feel sorry for the negro's and round and down they have lost their music And I have lost my music too

Original Scan

Page 64

AI Interpretation

GPT

A violent rural lament that splits into two voices or columns, letting loneliness echo against itself.

Claude

Pigs and yard arms — nautical and agricultural vocabularies collide. The split into two voices lets loneliness echo against itself, as if the poem needed two channels for a solitude too large for one.

The denial ('we never took pigs off') defines life by what was refused or prevented, making absence the primary content.