Americana literature local color sociology writing

future farmers of america

the year i moved south

amidst a northern drought

there was a band of arsonists terrorizing

the people of three counties

comprising my childhood stomping grounds

Lincoln, Casey, & Pulaski



the bastards burned the hardware store

a few occupied houses

the lumber yard

and my dead daddy’s high school

in eubank

where he was in 
future farmers of america

a basketball star

and the first of his mining man clan

to graduate


i had moved into my grandmother’s old house with my sons

to write my book

the utilities were reasonable

the memories were free


poppies and black irises in the back yard

mockingbirds in the trees

hummingbirds attending gossip socials

and a coat of many colors rose bush

who presented the sunlight back

to god in heaven each morning


one dark august night

deep into the soup thick summer heat

i had retrieved a jar of green beans

from the cellar out back

and proceeded to

cook them up with bacon grease

at the same old avocado green

electric whirlpool stove

where i watched

in hungry awe

as memaw did it

a thousand times


my loyal staffordshire bull terrier

was laying behind me at my feet

as is tradition when mama is cooking


my proximity to danger

was right beside

the side door

in the kitchen

leading out onto a breezeway

and porch


i had the big wooden door open

with only the screen door locked

in place to
allow for escaping heat




slow and southern

lost in a dying love poem


at the same moment i saw

a bit of night beyond the doorway

move in the shape of a man

up to no good

just when

i heard a gutteral growl come from

the canine creature behind me

comparable to the ear piercing howls

of a minotaur

trapped inside a labyrinthine hell


my boy

my dog Vinnie took flight

at the door

his paws never touching the floor

he exploded through the screen after

the menacing figure


i gave chase with my shotgun

saw he had three fuckers on the run

silhouette kerosene cans in idle hands

determined to burn down

what the banks

haven’t reclaimed yet

their lives stripped

of purpose and pride

one generationally entrenched

welfare check at a time


that night a church went

up in smoke instead


that was the evening

Vinnie saved my life

the lives of my twin boys

and the most sacred hiding places

my childhood provided


god have pity on the lost

future farmers of america

Americana art behavior biology poetry sociology

beautiful with

this will be the time of my life

i summon as i near death

beautiful with

the simplicity of a crisp t-shirt

sliding over my willing breasts


the happiest days

to be carried with me

when angels

call me home to rest


the bourbon queen

shall die content


by the love she has given


there is a limit to the penance

one can pay

for a sin someone else

carved recklessly

lover’s initials and pierced hearts

into pomegranate tree flesh


bury me beside the little white chapel

in Sardis, Kentucky

next to my daddy


it will be the first time

his bones

will make

for good company



Americana religion sociology

southern gothic

if there’s one myth

a Baptist can dispel

it is the misconception

that all Christians are friendly


thin lipped women

become more so

when i enter a room


men succumb to a case

of the glancing can’t help it’s


it took a lot of suffering

books read

and introspection

to achieve this level of

fuck you

i don’t give a shit


i love my life

i love living in my skin

i love my battle scars

i cherish my mistakes

as they became my teachers

i love my family in

all its grand dysfunction

we make spite look alluring


aw hell

let’s just go up

in the hay loft

talk about the power of forgiveness

and engage

in some heavy pettin’




Americana family sociology Southern Gothic writing

tennessee glory land

i don’t know

what heaven looks like

but it can’t be far off

from this

addiction Americana art behavior cinema comedy crime domestic violence ecology education family film happiness history Jazz literature local color love Music pandemics physics poetry psychology punk relationship studies religious studies rituals science Short Stories sociology Southern Gothic suicide the arts travel Uncategorized Urban Legends war writing

our neighbors would hate us

it was the moment
i felt the weight of you

that come hither look in your eyes

a crashing instant
when i contemplated
what we would be

we would make antony and cleopatra seem uncommitted

a passion so profound

it would negate my need for panties


i made the decision
not to want you
or the responsibility of your happiness

chose never to be the person
who complains you’re never around

and when you’re home don’t lift a finger

i never want to be your freshest regret


what a perfect disaster we would be


our neighbors would hate us


we would go to home depot

and choose to paint the bathroom an almost puce shade of armageddon

we would watch fatal attraction together and immediately run to ikea

for more lamps and cutlery


scratching vinyl to a screeching stop

speakers and clothing flying

through rattling windows


we’d brawl over a bourbon bottle

some june night

and threaten to cut each other

with the jagged pieces

of a kenny rogers and the first edition album


perpetually polar

fucking or fighting
either way it would be noisy

we would drive the sidewalk to drink

all the pearls in the world
would fall from their strands

we would tire of crying

you would invalidate my every previous love poem


our car would eternally be waiting to plunge

from an icy bridge

in the deep south


because i threatened to jump out and through the door open to puke

and you swerved trying to grab for my

drunk ass

because we’d love each other more than we had collective sense


there must be a heaven for that