THERE GOES PROSE

Sitting on my boney aching ass shiny shellacked chair
absent beleaguered mind wandering mind wandering heart
until Martin (clarion) Bell himself plangent thank god finally stops his own dong
janitor dragging a dumpster down the hall “There Goes Prose!”
married, dumpster rattling
the rectangular table the other end that voluptuous poet
whew god I lust
to be unfaithful to run
running charged to fall
fall flat on your face
oh for christ’s sake adulterer pick your self up –
sell a poem.