ma, I might have to call
you over I’m not lucid
like your latenight
gamblers
my love is red
crisp like a ladybug
my love she tunes my soul
twists it taut like
the readytwang in a banjo string
she can so easily
take a spatula to my heart
with her gingham dress and
blunt-burnt freckles though
I’m a little scared by her attempts
to bleed me she said my liver
is left out of humor
cause I’m loose-
limbed like Abe Lincoln
she tries and tries to help
(I’m thickheaded and amble
like molasses)
so I say how about I carry
my bile down river
empty the whole canoe
into the mouth of the Wabash
(sweetie if you want
I will fake
my own ending –