Against Heads Like Hickory Wood by Victor Clevenger

Mornings I drink my coffee and look out the
car windows.
I’m simply a writer riding,
but
I
have
come
to the
conclusion
that
too many men’s skulls need a reminder of
what
primal means, and
beautiful women
refuse to believe that
they are actually
ugly
when
they cry.
The truth —
these city streets are a
self-indulged,
stuck-up-the-ass
horror show and a seven-pound hammer swung wildly
is not a
guaranteed
resolution,
but it’s a damn solid suggestion.

Victor Clevenger; With guts full of grit, I spend my days in a Maximum Security Madhouse and my nights writing poetry and short stories from the kitchen table of my ex-wife’s home. Selected pieces of my work have been published in Chiron Review, Eleventh Transmission, Crab Fat Literature, NEAT, and anthology collections published by Lady Chaos Press.