Bull is what it is, this search for a plot
so contemporary and delicious
that everyone will be hopelessly caught
up in the narrative. My ambitious
side crept out one night and hasn’t returned
my calls. Afraid of a little conflict?
Seriously though, I’m growing concerned
yes, positively palmate, long-nosed, licked
salt from a wound or a block or a road
swallowed. Scene after scene, nothing happens
and I’m just babbling now. But it snowed
some that night and there was fog on the lens
so that’s a start, right? Bull! No, this is not
the flash the story needs. This is a rut.
