The first thing I did after reloading the shotgun.

Lost a bet with myself and shaved my head
but I'm growing it out again
like Conor used to sing about
back when we were single.
I was standing in a highway rest stop
and instantly knew which man in the crowd
that long-haired broad would walk to
after leaving the ladies' room.
It wasn't me.

Let's get something else straight--
He didn't die for you or me;
He did it so some lonely misanthropes
could write a book, a fairytale
to help them sleep at night.
Me?
I've found a better method.
"Mine is a jealous god," the children shall
recite as they dance around the architect
to the tune of a baker's dozen.
"Take it easy, or any way you can get it,"

and we heard the Grand Finale
from the safety of my room
for a reason.

"Let the loser have the last word, Son,"
a welder once told me.
Fast windshield wipers used to
turn his hungover stomach, too.
Those days are done for him now, but
I can still smell the whiskey and women
on his beard if there's no breeze.

Some can't handle the mixture of hot and cold.
This is not for them.



Currently reading:
"Animal Farm" by George Orwell.