Reading award winning
Book of a wannabe.
In three indefatigable lanes
Unmoving window frames
Showing hypnotized zombie faces of people
Barely alive getting home
And on the 37th page
No more can I take.
The common error of choosing
The wrong wire in defusing a bomb.
The writer’s charm, the writer’s aroma,
The flash of tooth, the way the writer walks,
Where the writer’s from, the places all been to.
The number of writerly kisses for which you got to pay back.
I gently push the book back into my bag,
Resort to a less flashy, long ago movie script,
Bought at the road side for 1/11th the price
And start from — after being brought home drunk —
Where the sold out anti-hero lays asleep with mice.