Sweetfeedhttp://bloggingpoet.squarespace.com/sweetfeed/2008-08-27T22:52:52ZSquarespaceconclusionshttp://bloggingpoet.squarespace.com/sweetfeed/2006/9/5/chapter-35.htmlBilly2006-09-05T16:45:21Z2006-09-05T16:45:21Z

“What’s Drewspur,” I asked as Lee, Veggie, and I walked along Virginia Route 756 near Indian Valley and Alum Ridge. “Is it a big city, cause if it is I don’t want to go.”

“Oh no,” Lee replied, “Drewspur is a little place hid way back in the wilderness. There’s only one house there and only friends of its owner even know the place exists.”

“So is Billy a friend of the owner?” I asked.
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On The Road Againhttp://bloggingpoet.squarespace.com/sweetfeed/2006/9/5/chapter-34.htmlBilly2006-09-05T16:42:19Z2006-09-05T16:42:19Z

show timehttp://bloggingpoet.squarespace.com/sweetfeed/2006/8/31/chapter-33.htmlBilly2006-08-31T05:34:48Z2006-08-31T05:34:48Z

Bondagehttp://bloggingpoet.squarespace.com/sweetfeed/2006/8/15/chapter-32.htmlBilly2006-08-16T01:38:04Z2006-08-16T01:38:04Z

Bondagehttp://bloggingpoet.squarespace.com/sweetfeed/2006/7/23/chapter-31.htmlBilly2006-07-23T22:26:56Z2006-07-23T22:26:56Z

I watched out the side of the trailer as we traveled northeast along the Will Rogers Parkway. I remembered hearing about Will Rogers when I was younger. He always had a lot to say about a lot of things and I couldn’t help but wonder what he might have to say about my current situation. In almost no time at all we were in Missouri, otherwise known as the State of Misery.]]>

Wild Wild Westhttp://bloggingpoet.squarespace.com/sweetfeed/2006/7/18/chapter-30.htmlBilly2006-07-18T10:53:22Z2006-07-18T10:53:22Z

I spent most of my time under the alluring spell of Sugar Cube. She was my first love and the greatest love I’ve ever known. We spent our days trotting around the farm, lounging ‘neath the shade trees, and taking the occasional cool dip in the pond. I still remember how beautiful she looked when her body was soaking wet and the light gleamed against the hairs stuck tightly to her loins. I remember the way she neighed when I scratched behind her ears with my nose and I remember the way I shuddered when she did the same for me. Of course it was my relationship and my feelings towards Sugar Cube that caused the problems I would soon face on Trooper Joe’s farm.]]>

On The Road Againhttp://bloggingpoet.squarespace.com/sweetfeed/2006/7/4/chapter-29.htmlBilly2006-07-05T02:17:32Z2006-07-05T02:17:32Z

Livin’ on Tulsa Time, livin’ on Tulsa time. Gonna set my watch back to it ‘cause you know that I been through it... It’s not that there’s anything wrong with farming, but once you’ve had a taste of the big city lights it’s hard to resist goin’ back for second helpings-- thirds even. You see, while I loved life on the farm I also had a thirst to fill. I was sure there had to be better things in life than a handful of sweet feed two or three times a day. I decided that it would be best if I expanded my horizons and took to the highways as those big city lights were a callin’ me. I decided to head just across the state line to Tulsa, Oklahoma.]]>

Wild Wild Westhttp://bloggingpoet.squarespace.com/sweetfeed/2006/7/4/chapter-28.htmlBilly2006-07-05T02:14:43Z2006-07-05T02:14:43Z

Wild Wild Westhttp://bloggingpoet.squarespace.com/sweetfeed/2006/6/22/chapter-27.htmlBilly2006-06-22T20:46:32Z2006-06-22T20:46:32Z

“Give a dog a bad name and it will bite, a man’s infamy can be what others make; a spider is no more dangerous than a mite.” Billy read poetry to us as we set around the campfire. Everybody listened quietly ‘cause Captain Johnny Taco said so. Captain Johnny knew Billy wanted to become a famous writer and a world renown poet, and it was Johnny’s plan to give Billy the story that would make them both famous: the story of the Wild Salsa Gang. That’s why the members of the Wild Salsa Gang called Billy, the Scribe.

“There are dead spiders, hypocrits philanthropists, gloomy Aristotles, and their ilk; give a dog a bad name and it will bite.” Billy was reading from Parable Of The Man-Child by a Welsh author named Richard Ball. Billy said Richard was a biker like the guys in the Salsa Gang. Billy said that Richard rode Harleys and Indians and was one of the greatest poets in the world even though the world refused to recognize Mister Ball. Billy dreamed of meeting him someday.]]>

bikershttp://bloggingpoet.squarespace.com/sweetfeed/2006/6/22/chapter-26.htmlBilly2006-06-22T20:44:04Z2006-06-22T20:44:04Z

Wild Thing, you make my heart sing. You make everything... “Jack, come here quick. I need to talk with you,” It was Little Debbie calling me from behind the shed she had converted to a barn. I barely heard her as the radio in the house was really loud. Rex and some woman had been in there since just after Debbie had left for work. Wild Thing, I think I love you, but I wanna’ know for sure...

“What are you doing behind the barn?” I asked as I looked out the small window in the back.]]>