These are the thoughts of a Texas transplant in West Michigan who makes his living as a newspaper reporter by evening, and a struggling novelist by day.

Monday, September 01, 2008


no kids for heather, ever,
you bemoan -- or glee,
wrap the rubber tight,
i'm not in for a fight

what's that?
shave what? a dog?
-- oh yes, smooth, down to the skin.
-- no, fun. and necessary.

grumble, mumble,
jack and me,
we stand together,
numbed by the glass,
should i take the glass?

no i'm cool, im cool.

after hours with hot hands,
i played all the ladies,
and the gents, too,
for for all the clinkage.

emit a laugh,
john, john,
i didn't mean to imitate.

the studs came out tonight,
all and one lady, we did play,
and play she did.

and lame was i,
for hours after,
drag and drag,
the slaughter song.

and as the white flows down and back again,
you hesitate, like always,
and get nowhere,
everyone hates me,
reddened tears and cheeks to boot,
self conscious bore.

swing this way, swing this way,
lock in place,
unhinged no more.


Post a Comment

<< Home