dear sir,

it has been brought to my attention

that you are a mess on legs.

your turpentine demeanor has become,

as they say,

a real sonofabitch.

and so, i write to you,

sir,

to give you an ultimatum, of sorts.

we can settle this like civil folk,

or it can take another turn.

i know that you’re a stubborn old fuck,

full of mud and blood and

candy bars. shellac and shame.

you’re full of

nothing more than pencil dust

and paper bags.

you’re made of rust

and fear.

now, i suspect you knew all that.

you’re not a simple man.

but fact is,

someone’s got to say it out loud

for your ears and guts to hear.

i will gladly be that man,

in my present state of hops and poppy;

the one to wrangle in your restlessness.

so here’s what we can do.

we can take twenty steps away

from one another,

backs turned and fingers twitching,

and we can draw.

you might have a better chance on that,

good friend,

because i know you’re set to wreck me.

that bony first finger of yours

has always been itching to

put me into bed.

however,

i’ve become real good with a rope.

our other option is,

you say uncle.

you give in to what i have to say.

and then, by doing so,

you can toss this knot around your neck,

young man,

and say godspeed.

i’ll give you my favorite camera,

if you so wish...

i’d like to see

a snapshot of the great hereafter.