All Japanese Girl Rolls

First, a poem by Steve Davenport:

Murfy Blesses The Cowboy of Drunken Love's Love

Here's some stuff from last night, cowboy. Lizard-skin moon.
Boots black. That long-finned Cadillac convertible
Oakley loaned you and Tonto outside of Tulsa.
On the hood the shrunken head of Wallace Stevens
bobbing like a compass thinking west. Accident
she said. Liquor and love make corpses of us all.
Poets' tht taxidermy of red weather.
Taxidermy's the poetry of body bags.
That much you can remember. And down the highway
Tonto calling the shots, the cigarettes flicking
like fireflies, and bodies scattering like empties.
This isn't the way you planned it. So there's no God
and things have a way of turning to massacre.
The good news is frontier. Baggage is part of it.

*
You can listen to him read it right here.

Meanwhile, it's getting hot out there. So I've made good on the threats I've made to myself, and have buzzed my head:

I've never done this to my head before, so have mixed feelings. On the one hand, it makes life a little less warm, plus I get the added bonus of seeing exactly what's going on on my skull. It could have been thinner up there...but I seem to be doing better than expected. Yet, on the other hand, no matter how hard I try, I don't think I look nearly as badass as Davenport:

But I'm cool with that. I have years to work on it. Look over to the right to find a link to his book, Uncontainable Noise, and check it out for some gritty summer reading.