Harry Crews' Unfinished Novel, poem by Dale Wisely

Har­ry real­ized then that the book was so intimate
that all he could do was mark his place
with a thumb, close the manuscript,
look out the win­dow, and try not to cry
because, he said, it’s so damn close to the final shit

and because the book asked the read­er a question
that only God Almighty should be able to ask
because, see,
Har­ry said, it’s just
such a freak­ing, hor­ri­fy­ing burden
to have that ques­tion asked of any man.

And then Har­ry refused to describe either the novel
or the ques­tion and when, under influ­ence of drink,
you protest­ed and pressed the point he threatened
to kill your ass, man, to spare you the pain
of ever know­ing that awful load
that Har­ry now bears for you and for us all.

Dale Wise­ly found­ed and co-edits Right Hand Point­ing, One Sen­tence Poems, and White Knuck­le Chap­books. He can draw a Venn dia­gram to help you under­stand the rela­tion­ship between mus­cadines and scuppernongs.

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