I was raised in a shed

Tearwithout Zoloft in cans

Without momma & papa to lion over me

Or buy me Oreos

To deluge my sinking

Ink runs from the corners of my joust

(I am jesting of course)

My handful of sorrow lags thru my crosshairs

My bow is a Sheila sarcastic as papa’s little-dumpling-boy

My bagful of mindful poses in cyclones

& greater than Kansas

My skin is a rhyme I tinker with papa

But papa never believes in my poems

In a city of woe I motor towards nothing

Driven insane by papa’s New World.

Raymond Farr lives in Ocala, Fla. His work appears both online & in print at Otoliths, Bird Dog, 580 Split, Dusie, Xstream, Venereal Kittens, WordFor/Word, Apocryphal Text, Success, Coupremine, foam:e, Cricket Online Review, & 88: A Journal of Contemporary American Poetry & Poetics. His self published chapbooks are available free by email: r.farr@worldnet.att.net.

Other works on Sidebrow: “Pg. 24” A Pseudo-Litany, Being Lines Written by Anon., Journal Entry: 12-26-05, Dear Nadine,, Opus Californium & Bought Me a Mannequin Named Papa to Love With All My Heart