Waking up, dreadfully early
is dreadful, and then trying to write
because there is nothing else to do.
I feel how Hemingway must’ve felt
after they hooked him up to the electrodes, and he got
short-term memory loss
and he couldn’t remember the previous sentence he said.
It killed his writing
and it eventually killed him,
lying in bed, with empty beer bottles.
The doctors told him, “This condition is reversable”
but the days of no writing piled up
like spent shell casings
and the shotgun looked better and better
for those brains that weren’t being used.
Feminists, have since criticized
his last great novel
because it is too simple–
they don’t realize, simplicity is genius.
Public education has me dancing like an idiot
and the female teachers
don’t follow my lead.
considering marriage, should work
as a teacher’s assistant
nobody would get married.
It’s the illusions
that keep us dancing until midnight.