Dumb Lumberjack

They said that the reason

I keep my poems so jagged

and covered in piss is because I can't

fulfill a true glorious sentence---

a pathetic attempt on my part,

according to them, at distraction.

I told 'em they were probably right

and bought them each a drink.

Then a few more.

One woman wanted to dance.

The lights were a hazy red,

white and blue. I kicked the jukebox hard,

and everyone laughed.

"Joan Biaz no more for you," I said,

brushing the sawdust off my shoulder.

 

campus walkway . . .

crabapples crushed

into roses 

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Lockdown 3, Day One

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