By Artdog
Date: 18 December 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 nostalgic
        longings for her disgruntled, soft-pitched moans
        while half asleep and reaching for me to spoon.

I need to get my calluses 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 
sun dress, 
and replace whiskey for wine.

For the masculinity of a weather-worn leather coat
just wasn't enough protection
for the beneath the breastbone hollowing
brought on by a woman on the run.