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Ah, but the beat goes on and evil men and women, the evil that they do, must be confronted and this burns in my bones and the fire is released in those hard things that I am compelled to write of rather than the soft and gentle things that would be the joy and happiness of my own soul and heart. It is the evil that stifles the music and poetry that I would far rather compose and enjoy. Once in a while, however, I let fancy have her wing and go off on a tangential journey of the heart and soul. So: I’ll call her Rosie. She sat in the cheap, plastic-covered recliner; its cotton guts oozed from the various rips and tears in its hide. Rosie was wearing a thin, nondescript, threadbare robe that didn’t obscure the fact that she was overweight. As she said, when you are poor and stressed, you eat and cheap food is fattening. But she was going to get her weight down in order to attract a man. “I’m not someone who has to be alone.” She said this with a voice...
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