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PRAISE FROM CEASAR
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THIS AIN'T MY FATHER'S WRESTLING
He called the prose
as much a celebration
of the English language
as of the beer
it’s my hobby, my passion
quite possibly
the love of my life
as the sheer joy of writing
begins to emerge
and the liquid caramel elixir
melts like candy
against the roof of my mouth
and I open the blinds
to reveal the street lights
and the increasingly occasional
traffic swiftly crossing by
It’s mostly just opaque
as I can not see a tree
ten feet before me
and the waning inspiration
seeks alternative stimulation
a sloppily poured beer
sits atop the bureau
on a beer coaster from England
surrounded by ID,
money, keys, other documents
the art form ravaged
and left undermined
the self defeating nature
never subjugated
never subjugated
absolute authority denied
in third worlds apart
from modernized society
in iron beams and neon lights
honking catcalls at girls in skirts
