I wanna move to Iowa
and get the publishing company
off the ground with LAW
and kiss my love
in the wings of walls
where inspiration is manifested
instead of found.
I wanna live in a little house
with a little backyard
under which I will bury poems
and next to which I will draw cartoons
on the wall of the cold basement,
making ghosts envious.
I wanna frequent a Davenport dive bar
with creative friends and colleagues
until one of us writes a book that
pisses all of us off.
I wanna find a sweet disposition,
something I haven't had in a while,
not in bulk anyways, and I will bring it
with me to Wal-Mart just outside of town
and I won't care when someone
cuts me in the checkout line,
because I will be happy in Iowa.