High brow stuff.

As threatened, a poem. This was originally written for Deer Leader, but I think it fits the McHuntress just as well. With apologies to Joyce Kilmer, a sissy poet, who did actually serve his country (he was killed at the second battle of the Marne) during WWI. Neo-contata (After George W. Bush) I think that I will never see a poem as pretty as a Christmas tree. A rough thing from nature trimmed up fine. Covered with tinsel, lights ashine. Kinda puts me in mind of another type of Christmas tree, A thing that keeps our nation free. The one that goes on top of a well after it’s been capped; Only kind of vein me and my friends ever tapped. An oil derrick, big old, clankin’, belchin’ sumbitch of a rig Hooverin’ up the oil, from the earth’s deep bowels, you dig? A tree whose branches all are twined together as is manly, not splayed out, supplicatin’ like, and gangly. It’s proud erection strainin’ against the fabric of the earth While it spurts life givin’ fluids for our capitalist rebirth. I didn’t mean to make this piece short or curt, But poetic thinkin’ makes my head hurt. Excerped from "Towards Self-love, By A Twisted Path--New Work 2001--?"