But Amble was falling into drink and soon we had the regular pile-up of aches and moans:

Surprising Violence

I was suprised to learn how violent Amble Whistletown is.

I was surprised to see this man, now approaching middle age but still shining with the lithe musculature and carefree square-jawed charm of his youth, stalking ghosts with his knife and expression drawn.

I was surprised to see him cut the throat of a long-dead story-less crime. I was surprised to see him quick-as-a-wink twist off the neck off of the very monster his family told him existed only in his mind, desperate as it was for they guess excuses and drama.

I was surprised by the blood all over the dusty brown flat-top carpet. I was surprised to see his violence so free of hesitation, patience, sympathy, compassion, joy, or any of the other goods that he says he serves.

I was surprised by the blood droplets flying everywhere once he’d gotten the strength and focus to speak his mind back into the time before time.

I was surprised.

Author: Bartlebly
Editor: Amble
Copyright: Andy (Watson)

Trump an abuser. Privately and Publicly. What are persistent jokes about being made president for life and looping threats about how he’s going to go use the power of the federal government to correct the media and his perceived enemies — bad, vermin, and the real woe of the world — but the semi-cautious fingertips of an abuser getting the nation acclimated to his touch, normalizing what’s to come? What is a lie-based politics if not the upside-down reality of self-righteous abuse?

I know an abuser when I hear one.
I know an abuser when I smell one.
I know an abuser when I feel one.
I know.

And now I see you aid and abet crimes written on the edge of the white curving dam holding back deep waters warm at the face and ice cold in the belly.

[Here we see a drunken fool swiping desperately at real injustice: the victory of Donald Trump and his enablers over the Republican Party.]

Author: BW
Editor: AW
Copyright: AMW

One more inappropriate Love Poem; here a couple excerpts:

You’re a nice person

It’s not like you think; not like I think; not like anyone thinks

What should I do with myself?

And how would I do it?

I could go to Quito, to the center of the world, touching the sky

But it would probably hurt my skin

I could dance across the waters of the Sea of Galilee and party with Jesus

But I would certainly sink

I could …

…

I could

let everything go

[Yes! Let all that go! A man can’t beg, cajole, bully, or extemporize love into being. Please forgive my overreach; please accept my resignation from a thought I took too far with too little regard for you.]

A Disappointment

a disappointment
over and over again
the snake on the leg
tugging
winning
and you fail
you disappoint
for how many years now
?

[And there you have it. You think alcohol helps to keep your mind loose and to get at nuances you couldn’t otherwise reach. Maybe. But at what price? And to the exclusion of what other, perhaps more fruitful, methods? We know how far we can get with wine and loneliness. Why not test some other waters?]