do not start any day with the words,
I recall.
do not, late at night, lean
toward poignancy.

to be blunt, if you can’t avoid these
two things, you
shouldn’t be talking at all,
not yet.
it’s not a good use of your time
to ponder and reflect.

not yet.
you’d be better off if you would just
strip off your old clothes,
open the front door
run into traffic, and
die
out there.

come back as a blowtorch
and build something for a change,
instead of always describing
the potential for a splendid new everything,
living
your moment
as a welder lives it:
all sparks and grit
and beaded wounds
healing before you.

keep it all to yourself
until you’ve got something
worth saying.

go HERE for good writing and thoughtful politics…

http://www.november3rdclub.com/

God will want nothing to do with you
as long as you won’t
cut your hair, the sweet old
witch told me

as we smoked on the corner
outside her store,
the bookstore where I spent almost
every hour I wasn’t working.

I remembered then that I’d heard
she’d packed up everything she owned
and moved here from New Orleans two weeks before The Flood.
Was it a whim, a dare, a premonition?

I used to be brave about the possibility
that the more I looked like Jesus, the greater the chance
I’d be ignored at Judgement Day among the other
wannabe Messiahs. I refused to be confused with them,

so I cut my hair the next morning
before going out. I figured
she must know something, what with
that hair, those books,

that light around her.

I think, number one, that I’ve been drinking too much lately. I downed a few bourbons (my drink of choice lately) last night after Christian’s feature in Providence, and I’m feeling the fatigue this AM.

Number two: I have too much to do.

Number three: I have too much to think about.

Time to withdraw a bit from things and think less, feel more.

a little drunk.

a lot sad.

imsonshyne caught me by phone in the middle of johnnylexicon‘s excellent feature to let me know about Angela Boyce’s departure.

I called kickasphalt immediately to see if she had details, and ended up breaking the news.

we’ll miss you, our lady of the crickets.

pat storm, ken hunt, angela boyce…why is it the ones with huge hearts?