Buying Drinks for Stubborn Men

Gonna get him a bourbon

Gonna get him a bourbon

At the airport

And I’m not feeling

Ironic about it

Who the fuck

Who the fuck drinks bourbon

At an airport

Jesus Christ

He keeps saying

He’s not coming

To Seattle with me

Fine

Stay where you are

And see how that gets you off

It won’t

It won’t do a fucking thing

For you

But you--

You’re convinced

You’re sitting here convinced

That we’re not gonna mix business

And more business

And that there’s some

Illustrious morality

In waiting at a terminal

For a plane to arrive

And take you to three solid days

Of fucking on sandy beaches

Next to crabshacks

And surfer huts

I have no support

For your stubbornness

You can’t eat pride

And you can’t fuck dignity

I am sitting here

Offering you

A few hours

Of vampire darkness

And eternal
Medicinal

Power

There is a money grab going on

At the top of Manhattan

And you’re--

You

--Are going to the other side of the fucking country

Because you’re like
Those Northern civilians on the hill

During the Civil-fucking-War

Watching actual

Fucking

Soldiers

Fight

I spent all my good days

Buying drinks

For stubborn men

And all it got me

Was a spectator seat

At a few second-tier fights

Now I will get you as drunk

As you wanna get

But once you are

You have to make

Some hard choices

I don’t care about your--your--your--

Fucking

Drinking

Problem

I don’t care

About your drinking problem

I don’t care

About any of your problems

I care about a plane

On a tarmac

Taking you somewhere

That is not helpful to me

To me

Lock your fucking jaw in

Right next to your heels

But the bourbon

Is about to flow

And you are asking

To get a taste

Of what I keep

Behind the bar

So don’t look at me

Like it’s animal instinct talking

It is pure

Fucking

MONEY

Talking

Here

Buddy

It’s not dandelion wine

It’s straight up
And it’s aged

Now pull your fucking lip up

Clean your nose out

And rip that fucking plane ticket in half

Because we have places to be

Top of Manhattan

And a money grab

Means

There is money

To grab

So why are you sitting here

Twiddling your dick

Like a pocketwatch

I’ll get you your drink

And then you need to get me something

Then you need to show up

You need

To stop being stubborn

And start acting

Like a man

The only thing in your way

Is your pride

And if I have to take that away from you

To turn you into something useful

Then so fucking help me--

I’ll do it

And I’ll take a few other things

While I’m at it

The One Who Cuts the Rope

She goes to Mayse

Down First Term Road

And cuts down the one

Hanging from Deepest Root

There were two there last week

The week before five

Things must be cooling down

Because today there’s just one

And he looks like he went quick

She cuts him down

Takes him to Chairstead

A few miles away

And collects the sixteen gold

And two that was owed to her

From the previous week

Chairstead keeps coming up short

And she’s happy to take the IOU’s

But only because

What choice does she have?

Her pig is waiting for her at home

And she knows pretty soon

It’ll need to butchered

But she made the mistake of calling it Rafter

And now she can’t help but think of it

Like a pet

Even though she’ll be starving

When the first snow arrives

And the pig should be slaughtered

Long before that

If she’s going to come up

With a meal plan

She takes a shortcut

The way that’s overgrown now

With weeds and cattle bugs

Only because she doesn’t want to see

That fucking pig

Smiling at her

Any sooner than she has to

The Long Legs by her house

Has branches stretching out

Over the powerlines

And the telephone poles

It looks like the three

Burst and froze

In a moment

She stops a hundred feet away

Wondering if her eyes

Are playing tricks on her

From every branch

Every limb

Are dozens

And dozens

Of ropes to cut

And at the end of each rope…

Her knife isn’t sharp enough

She knows that already

It’s fine for cutting down

What the stragglers leave her

When they hang a handful

From the the Deepest Root

But whoever did this

Might never have intended

To see these ropes

Be cut

Some are hung with two ropes

Some have ropes tied

To every appendage

Fingers and toes

She fingers the knife

At her side

Wondering if the hangers

Are still nearby

Itching to put another body

In the tree

But her ear is keen

And the road is quiet

The tragedy is a thing of the past

And the historians

Are long gone

Leaving her

To do the cutting

Once upon a time

She cut a man down

Who hurled a raw insult

At the face

Of an oppressor

He had a blue shirt

And teeth were lined

For nothing but smiles

Nothing but pleasantries

She never knew the man

But she imagined dancing with him

Down all the roads

Past all the houses

Ready for fire

And crackling wood

Trees cut down

By axes

Wielded by men

Without names

She touches her knife

And wonders

Which rope

Will split first

Which of them

Will get the last

Bit of sharpness

From her blade

Who will come down

First

Pressure Points

He names the muscles in your back

While he presses down on them

This is this one

This is that one

One by one

Knots

Rock away

The cat in the corner

Doesn’t seem interested

In the naked boy

Who just got laid

And followed it up

With a lame grin

And a request

Shoulders shrug

Flip on your stomach

See if you can catch the view

From the window that faces

The skyline

And the cathedral

The boy with the lean frame

And the long arms

And the strong hands

Hops on your back

And counts down

The vertebrae

In your spine

This is this bone

This is that one

He touches a spot

And it’s warm

Then cold

The parts that are tense

Go loose

And other parts of you

Erase

Before you even knew

They were there

This is the kind of apartment

That should have a fireplace

But doesn’t

This is the kind of man

Who shouldn’t have a care in the world

But holds the world on his back

While he sits on yours

And makes your problems

Rock away

There’s another cat you never see

And a shelf full of books

That look like

They’ve been read

Too many times

Everything about him

Is the difference between you

And the man

You’d like to be

His furniture looks vintage

And museum-ready

His hair falls in his face

But you can always

See his eyes

His voice could put you to sleep

If you weren’t so interested

In what he was going

To say next

What parts of you

He was going to name

He tells you about his sobriety

Like it’s a nickname

He had in school

You think about staying over

But you have work in the morning

And a fear of waking up

Not knowing where you are

Back home

There’s a washing machine

Next to your bed

And no cats

To lovingly judge you

Back home your bed

Is a bunch of blankets balled up

And a flattened pillow

And nobody who loves you enough

To get your knots out

This guy isn’t perfect

But he’s the first person

To solve something for you

Instead of giving you two new problems

To take care of

By lunchtime

It’s half past three

And you’re acting like

It’s four in the afternoon

You don’t feel tired

You don’t feel scared

You don’t feel the relief that comes

From having a beautiful person

Dig their hands into you

Like they’re trying

To sculpt you

Into somebody new

All you feel is that wanting

That wanting

To be changed

To be set

And fired

Into

Somebody else

And the dig--

Dig

Dig

That never

Turns up

Anything