My Dear F.,

July 4, 2010 at 8:34 am | Posted in jazz poetry, poetry, writing | 5 Comments

Just a short note to let you know
the vicar’s visit turned out something
but not quite as expected
there is something quite uncouth
in these villagers.

Still, better,
than a nunnery.

Your handiwork continues to inspire
but I must say not quite
what you promised, the antidote,
does not work. Please send more tao
haha, these strange realms sterile and
the portraits looming, and all these damn
petticoats. Anyway, have fun. I’m not.



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  1. […] displays of responsiveness to creative genius., character analysis essays I would count as one though in my own (current))))absence of that […]

  2. It’s like walking through a dream, and then the link adds more mystery. Still I understand this (just as much as I understand my dreams, though).

  3. Petticoats, indeed. Sounds dreary. Get out of there now!

  4. Yeah! Love this – especially the end. A most bitter postcards feel here

  5. Blast it all man, it’s so much work…this whole living, dying thing every day,,,still better than the alternative I say. Ah, who cares for the antidote…there is no cure for life but death…let’s settle for an anecdote instead. I’ll tell you my story and then we can both get drunk. Then I’ll listen to yours. Or we can walk down to the ocean and listen to the waves talk about the life of the sea. I don’t care for petticoats…who wants to tussle with a bussel? Give me a good American girl in a skin tight pair of jeans like I always see in the magazines, I’ll bet they slide off easy enough. Happy Birthday across the universe.

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