all quiet on the midwestern front

spit purple into the bathroom
sink. grin at the lonely and
tired man with purple
teeth who is in there as
well. you, wanting

a meteor to blaze through the
atmosphere. him, just wanting
you to be happy. to
grow old with success, with
lineage. shut the light

on him, head to kitchen with
a see through 750 and a cork
that has fallen on
hardwood, next to radiator. six
other bottles lay horizontal
on rack; everything is sleeping but
you. look over at empty blanket
bundled bed. look up at a
painting you made. head is

lowered and lids are
heavy. it’s quiet except
for that man in the
bathroom who already knows
what you are going to
do. hand moves toward another
bottle. uncork, toss down by
radiator. in teeth stain
pull, head to the

bathroom and shut the door
on the man, muffling his

a royal hobo purple

it’s a humid early august dusk. a storm is
brewing somewhere out in Iowa. the citronella
tiki torches I lit on my deck keep going out,
allowing the mosquitoes to suck me dry. I have
imbibed a bottle of shiraz from a mason jar-
feel in limbo. a family of racoons keep pestering
me for food. I got nothin to write about. I piss
in a sway in the AC bathroom, my teeth are purple.

I’ve learned. when you have nothing to write
about, shade your teeth in a royal hue, then walk
to sweat off the nothin. head downtown like a
hobo in search of port. you will find it all in
this moment.