By Art Dog    artdog28@webv.net
Date: 8 October 1999

regaining stoic

Hemingway would have shaken his head at me
when stoicism leaked out my eye.
I have gotten a little soft- writing all this fey verse.
I need to go hunting, or something.
Maybe I will go lift some real big rocks
    throw them-
        sweat and bleed out my foolishly nostalgiac  
        longings for her disgruntled, soft-pitched moans
        while half-asleep and reaching for me to spoon.

I need to get my callouses back.
Chop some wood and curse at pretty flowers.
I am going to quit shaving and knock out a tooth, 
quit dreaming of her polynesian skin filling out a sundress,
replace whiskey for wine.

Moans, gone.
Rocks, here.