Praise, the LORD

"how can you write poetry and

not like poetry?" she asked.

"i don't know."

"well, what is it you don't like?"

"it seems detached to me. like something

removed from me. it was never written for me."

"maybe you're just not getting it."

"yeh." i said.

"because, i mean, BYRON?

come on. BYRON, is for everyone!"

"you mean, LORD byron.."

...

"you shouldn't be so bitter you know. he even

studied in dublin.

BYRON writes about ROMANCE and NATURE

with an elegance and GRACE."

"i guess"

"you guess?? HA!

And what do you write about?!"

"i wrote about a cat licking his

balls the other day."

"you're a vulgar ass, did you know that?"

"it was beautiful. it was hot out and he was in the sun

and he was really getting into it."

"you're a fucking idiot."

..

i got up and showered then.

when i got out,

she was gone.

i boiled the kettle and

drank a cup of tea in the

afternoon silence and watched

a gun metal sky and

praised the fuckin' LORD.