It came as a shock
But not a surprise

That ugly news
And they weren't
even sure
It was accidental

I mean,
Our story had  
Been writ
Submitted

And put on the shelf
A long time before

Vows to others,
That kind of thing

But it was
A good story
All the same

I’m glad we wrote it
But I wish

I could revise
The ending

It’s no field of daisies
This walk up those stairs
Sad banners flapping
This garden of dreams

I can see those assembled
Exchange their quick glances
As the band dies down
And the snickers fade out

They all know what’s coming
They’ve gathered to see
A neck yanked at noon

And this time it’s me

Look in my window
That’s me in there

With my spine
curled again
over this page

I started a novel,
But ran out of breath

I beat it and cursed it
but finally admitted

I’m a sprinter
(if that)
not a marathon
runner.

So maybe
Just a verse
or two

Because better
a dash
for hearts
or souls

Than a mile
for a
plastic grail

Sheep in the hallway
Coy in the sink

Couldn’t risk sleeping
Not even a wink

Guppies came
and guppies went
in bobbling bubbles
of discontent

This is the stuff
poetry is made of

When your poetic
*** falls off

I ruptured myself
like a schmuck
On a movie
Last night

A vapid,
schmaltzy flick
With dashing
Hugh Grant

And Emma Thompson,
Who was crying
From a kind of
Slept-in sadness

That I wanted
To rescue
her from

But I'm sure I
wouldn't get
The accent right

Besides,
the script was
already writ