My Work Here is Finished

I mean, I write about porn and swearing for Doublethink, and suddenly, Ross Douthat is writing about porn for The Atlantic, Mark Shea is writing about swearing for Inside Catholic. (No, I don’t imagine these events actually have anything to do with one another.)

A Dios!


  1. Matthew,

    Well, then, this calls for one more for the road, or ditch…

    An old one slightly revised for the occasion.



    “A friend always implies two.”


    One lives in this world’s tremulous shimmer
    Where labor’s armor is worn thin, thinner
    Where a calendar’s rare vacancies yawn
    Like gapes in one’s own battle-tested mail,
    Leaving one to bask softly in a pink sun.

    O fat caliph of California,
    Sepia moments inspire hiccups in you,
    Don’t go home. All is wine-colored, all ghostly, all…
    Like Roman excavations – while cypress
    And palm shiver in a cold ocean’s breeze.

    One rolls in waterlogged fashion week to week,
    Splashing in well-oiled ecstasy out here,
    The cobalt carpet of a swimming pool
    Cleaned weekly with a scribbling tongue in cheek,
    Its chlorine skies on one’s ceiling score

    One’s eyes as one abnegates for a while
    In the shadowed rifts of dunes that close
    Down to the tapered white receipt of surf.
    Here, apostrophied (meaning contracted) voice
    Loses its possessive power over itself.


    Or one breaks from the world’s indicted self
    And girds one’s leisure with a country saw
    Hacking dully through winter’s lumbering dead,
    Warm with friction as the soul’s snug grooves work raw
    To renew a firm commitment to wood.

    O sun, says Wisconsin’s wind-bitten self,
    Stay near now my hang-dry sweat-soaked long-johns;
    – Yah, you betcha, go ‘head make yourself useful.
    Sonnets and ballads slung on slang’s andirons –
    That’s how I reckon I’ve been here awhile.

    And I stack fuel in uneven, unevent-
    Ful lengths – in burning lines of elegy
    To warm the Kickapoo’s capacious belly
    And thaw cold odes cut from the moon’s whole cloth,
    Throwing flames high above mid-continent.

    Here, like the colored legends on a map,
    The frame of a doorway sounds meaning’s depth
    With eventual rural deliverance:
    Words shuck gingerly, as through a barb wire fence,
    For a hope that’s felt and perhaps even apt.

  2. Scarecrow…I think I’ll miss you most of all…

    and, JOB, I guess you have to post something hard to top, just for ole times’ sake…you show off.

    where can we talk now?

    Anyone else taking us in?

  3. Matthew Lickona says

    Well, it’s not like I’m killing the site. Stubborn pride, what have you. But it is on hiatus.

  4. I can live with a hiatus, but don’t get any ideas.


  5. Cubeland Mystic says

    Finished? Finished!!!? Was it finished when the German’s bombed Pearl Harbor!!!? HELL NO!!! We’re not just going to rollover and let the shadow fall, and live in darkness. I gotta a whole lotta stickin-it left for the man. I didn’t even get a chance to tell you how I got my superpowers, or the time I battled the three evil sorceresses or even about the time my novice’s leg was eaten by wild dogs in the fifth century. Heck I didn’t even get to tell you about the time I was almost abducted by aliens. It ain’t finished.

    What about the continuing tales of the Dark Night and Mr. November? That’s a tale that needs to be told. Talk about a comic. That”ll make money. Finished? I don’t think so.

    Then what about ~Ted? What’s he gonna do?

    November, your work will never be finished.

  6. Hiatus? Say it ain’t so…

  7. “My Work Here Is Finished”

    I don’t see a sequel coming out of this title…


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