Got a reject letter from Burning Woodchuck Review

Dear Poet,
Sorry, but my Russian
Wolfhound, Dostoyevsky
ate & defecated all the
submissions for Issue #3
the smell & smear almost
killed me. Was your poem
about catching your brother
cornholing his buddy while
watching Andy Griffith? Or
was it the one about Sandpaper
Sally the chick with scabs in her
vagina? Or the nuns with dildo
& splinters? Please resubmit.

Having never heard of any
of this, I pour a glass
half full of icy vodka
squeeze a lime in
& drain it

The cinnamon moon is
a slice less than full,
shining through the web
in the window, where two
buzzing flies struggle & a
centipede slowly joins them.

Love Grows Even In Winter

Happiness can be a shadow
following you or a smile
from a snaggletooth kid

A dog licking ice cream from
your hand, a twenty dollar
bill on the sidewalk, a wedge
of geese honking overhead

It can be a memory of where
you first met love or you looking
for the golden thread to unravel,
mostly a tangle is what remains

Life can be a pile of leaves on a
windy day or tulips in the snow,
try & grow love in your garden
& you canít go wrong.

Flying In The Talons

Time is a measurement,
a withered harvest of
manís wisdom, a dream
within a nightmare

Itís said you never fully
appreciate life until
youíve faced death

Fear is a tired joke,
ducks on an icy pond,
termites, a ripe banana,
four artichokes, a burnt
match, an empty bottle

A green lizard in the talons
of a Mexican eagle,
a bulldog with its teeth
buried deep in your ass.

Catfish McDaris has been active in the small press world for 20 years. After 3 years G.I. Joe, he hopped freights & hitchhiked across the U.S. & Mexico. He built adobe houses, tamed wild horses, made cattle troughs, worked in a zinc smelter, & painted flag poles. He lived in a cave & wintered in a Chevy in Denver. He ended at the post office in Milwaukee. A catfish farm is next, he hopes.

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