a literary journal of the fictional persuasion


no more mornings
D.B. Cox

"another morning when he must do it again—there is always another morning"
... Ernest Hemingway

    after you walked away
    from all of those
    car wrecks &
    plane crashes

    i was convinced
    you were
    larger than life—

    battles in italy
    safaris in africa
    fistfights in key west—
    although, chances are

    dorothy parker
    could’ve kicked
    the shit out of
    wallace stevens

    but when your
    old powers
    & old friends
    started to fade

    & you started
    to measure each evening
    by the whiskey
    left in the bottle

    & who wasn’t there
    the unrelenting
    became overwhelming…

    in a discarded
    draft of your
    nobel prize
    acceptance speech

    you wrote, “there
    is no lonelier man
    than the writer,
    when he is writing;

    if he has written well,
    everything in him
    has gone into the
    writing, & he faces

    another morning when
    he must do it again—
    there is always
    another morning…”

    one day in july
    1961, you put
    a 12 gauge shotgun
    to your head

    & since you never did
    anything half-ass
    touched off
    both barrels

    now you can rest
    your arms on the ropes
    ignore the bell
    for the next round

    the goddamn hammer
    of the morning alarm
    now irrelevant

© D.B. Cox 2005

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