But for these pigeons,

we’d be living the high life.

Mucking about

Rome, I’m dying, you’re all dying.

We’re all dying.

Capture my heart.

In the words of me,

and you and you and you and you and you and you, and you Brutus?

Preserve the republic.

But for these pigeons,

we’d be living the high life.

Deeply in debt,

I signed up to conquer Gaul,

sent letters

came saw conquered

preferred my image

in the mirror

to that of anyone else.


Played hours of heads or tails with my own face.


Just last night,

I saw a deer

outside my window.

Scared the shit out of me so bad

I had to stutter

the evening’s official pronouncement

while pissing in the backyard

while Julia and Julia Junior and Julia Junior Junior did their hair:

You ca-ca-can take the boy out of nature.

But you can’t ta-ta-take nature

out of the b-b-b-b-b-b-boy.



by amy lawless

Amy Lawless is a poet and editor living in NY. She has her MFA from the New School. My poems have appeared or are forthcoming in Red China Magazine, Dick Pig Review, Agriculture Reader, and Barrow Street.