All the people in the small bedroom community of Modest, Oklahoma, just outside

of Tulsa, surrounded in mesquite, willows and sweet gum, were having the same



                                    plumes of dollheads

lying in little piles of live colon contrivances


Would you close my email program there? I’m always leaving them lying around,

immodestly open.  As penance, I slather myself with sweet gum and wax

all my sins away.  As goes my colon, so goes everything else.


Swallow whole

the messiness, the chase, the apathy, the bedroom.

Clean the wax from my ears and hear the typing away of ownership.


My colon is the task facing the community bedroom of Modest.

A child walks past, gum-chewing, plucking dollheads, heading for periods and

nightmares.  Densely, gently, the chase begins in the forest of black and spindly whites.


If I’ve seen one pair of spindly whites, I’ve seen ‘em all. It’s the hairlessness that gets

me, though. Many times, I’ve entered a room and started a conversation and gone on

talking for while before realizing…..


The E male types, “it’s a modest community, colon,

but at least its nightmares are white and clean.”  The

voice rendition program writes “written spleen.”       


The embarrassed ones, they just run away,

and all those plucked heads vying to come along


Tulsa, Tulsita, and neighboring Modest, where shall I find you once I’ve been rendered?

Not in my nightmares, certainly—but rather planted,

white and gently spindled in my colon.




the big box block       Modest, OK?        The Funny Thing about Death/Metal             Dig Down Deeper