September 2004 / Volume Five / Issue Four
D.B. Cox

of lowdown prose,
that litters the page
like whiskey-driven scrawls
on drunk tank walls

recounting twisted
love affairs
with the seductive
dark ass of death

searching for
something real –
looking for
something certain –

by now,
it should be clear
the only things
for sure are:

the orbit
of the earth
around the sun,
& old coupe devilles…

but, if you wanna shoot,
go ahead, pull the trigger,
walk the plank,
slam that fatal fix…

or, better yet –

if you’re really crazy
about going out
in a pointless blaze

walk down to your
nearest recruiter
& sign
on the dotted line

you can replace
some homesick kid
who’s tired

of staring
down the working end
of an ak47 –

of waiting
for a dark-eyed lady
with explosives
strapped to her waist

who seriously craves –
a deadly embrace