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by A.D. Winans |
STRETCHING THE IMAGINATION ex-barfly ex-drunk diminished don juan kissing the pages with my words no stash graying mustache watching larry curly and moe down at the last picture show head gears in reverse going back in time: pork loin roast and sweet potatoes under a fire of jazz dancing with my nerve ends stretching the imagination like a wish bone WINTER POEM It's been in the thirties two nights in a row and my heater went out and I'm sitting here with a hacking cough freezing my butt off waiting for the power company man to come and fix the problem but it isn't so bad when you consider the earthquake tragedies in India and El Salvador and that d.a. levy stuck a rifle between his legs and blew his brains out which has nothing and yet everything to do with this poem thirty degree nights won't kill you but they don't bring comfort either the trouble with being single the trouble with being 65 is knowing you could die alone and go undiscovered for weeks with nothing but rotting flesh to tell your story and a few poems to remember you by BUSH LEAGUE he wants to be the king of the small press scene gain favors to get his poetry published and doesn't mind trampling on people if it will help get him there he has this slaughter house mentality on paper he struts like Napoleon and walks like Attila the Hun he wants inside you like a cock wants pussy a skilled magician who always has one more trick up his sleeve than the other guy he's suffered his whole life and has the poems to prove it he's a man of many assumptions and carries a Louisville slugger to enforce them he wants to make the big leagues but has never smelled the sweat of a minor league locker room nor tasted a brush back pitch or smelled linseed oil on a new glove but is well schooled in the art of the hit and run he longs to be one of the boys to join the millionaire club he wants to make it big time not realizing the bush league is filled with his kind UN TITLED received a rejection slip in the mail today from "the writers of the desert sage" undated, unsigned with a hand scrawled comment from the editor, I presume: "The Writers of the Desert Sage is a family publication, not an adult one some of your material may be offensive to some parents, so I must return it." I was disappointed that only some of it might be found offensive.
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