Contrary to popular opinion, this blog is still active. It might be on life support, with one foot in the grave, but active nonetheless.
Anyways, I keep it around because I need to put the thoughts in my head somewhere. At least until they all go into my book and I can retire to my tropical island living off the proceeds as a billionaire playboy philanthropist. OK, fine. Old man philanthropist.
Currently, I have a lot of shit broken down. It does not matter when you read this, that statement will still apply.
Seems inspiration strikes me when I'm armpit deep in something. Be it a cow or a combine.
This was from the latter. If you need me, I'll be over here fixing something.
I wonder if a welder might,
when he lifts his stinger from the arc,
find he's overrun by cattle
and a dog that likes to bark?
Or how often does a mechanic
when he turns to grab a wrench,
find himself entangled
in a half a mile of fence?
Or maybe there's a plumber,
while he's snaking out a drain,
might suddenly be in the way
of a combine load of grain.
It must happen all the time,
these things that cause alarm?
Because I always find, I'm in the shop,
when I'm trying to fucking farm!
...........my bloggy skills are really rusty. I'm pretty pleased with myself that I put the poem title in bold print right now.