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Gemini is a hell of a sign and James Woods is a hell of a pimp and I may be schizophrenic but Connie knows a doctor who can take good care of that limp. Play checkers in your treehouse, play with the Philharmonic. What is it about that height; what is it about the 7th that makes us loose our minds? Withering heartbroken radio’s choking on waves invisible stubborn and wild and someday I’ll be unwired: dead as a doornail high-tailing it from the Universe and flickering pixels are all that I’ll leave behind. If you ever want to see me again just sidestep to the warp zone and meet me in another time. We’ve got to find a warp zone. It’s the only way out of this mess. And once again explode. It’s getting harder to see, full of enemies, and time to get out of this place. And truthfully it seems to me everybody feels the need to sing about the radio. And I’ve got a line on a new kind of wine and I’ve got half a mind to sing. “Sing about the radio!”


from A Halter Pardon Him And Hell Gnaw His Bones!, released March 17, 2009


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Ganache Southington, Connecticut


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