Twenty Mules, by Ian Ganassi

Posted on August 11, 2020

Once broken halt, damaged lame.
It’s your own resistance.
The muse wants to make everything melodic,
But there’s more than one way to skin a lion.
The rain in New Haven falls mainly on the pavement.
Getting away is a good place for you.
She breathes for the ghost of us, sometimes in disguise.
Your noise to spite his face (sic).
I’ll have to make a lot of it.
They were all a syllable or 16th note behind
So there’s this out-of-synch vibration,
Like a rattling washing machine.
But if it tastes good eat it—the big man’s fallacy.
Can we take a detour around this mess?
It bores me. Trapped in a classy red convertible
That doesn’t run, or a rusty black pickup that does.