Horseflies   After the horse went down the heat came up, and later that week the smell of its fester yawed, an open mouth of had-been air our local world was licked inside of, and I, the boy who’d volunteered at twilight— shunts of chawed cardboard wadded up my nostrils and a dampened bandanna over my nose and mouth— I strode then into the ever-purpler sink of rankness and smut, a sloshful five-gallon bucket of kerosene in my right hand a smoking railroad fusee in my left, and it came over me like water then, into my head-gaps and gum rinds, into the tear ducts and taste buds and even into the last dark tendrils of my howling, agonized hair that through the windless…