Words fall down to death by red sword, pen cuts out the excess whores.

Red pen ink, to my page, stains the thoughts I pressed in pain.

Cut the shit the darlings too, kill the ego made from ruse.

Red line runs through half a page, cuts out these words I thought were great.

Cut the shit, cut it through, line-to-line an ‘X’ marks lose.

Red ink here and there a lot, lines by circle coffee blots.

Oh what action oh what prose guess what my words it’s time to go,

Leave my pages, I’m sucking thin, the story goes without you in.

I am so sorry, understand, the reader has made his own demands.

He said your lovely quite alright but he fears you’re endless plight.

You see dear words your painted tint, a sort of way to fake a win.

I guess you came to satisfy these thoughts of mine which I thought write.

Looks like I tossed you in a pile, mulled you over for a while.

Fell in love with your sweet mirth, should not have slept with Mrs. Adverb.

Time to say goodbye to you, nice to make you show such truths.

I am so sorry and so sad it’s come to this oh yes it has,

One more chance to let you speak, just one last thought I’m setting free.

The words that float and sound so good, the two I say do sound so rude.

I’m going to have to end with that, a spit of banter yet compact,

Off you go unneeded prose, take your charm you’ve been disposed.

No more fancy, no more show, grab your friend and off you go.

Suck my words into the night, enjoy this rhyme and sleep alright.

Read a thing a time or two, see it’s madness writing for you.

Well my words goodbye you two, bull-shit ends now – I bid ado.

– Thomas M. Watt

On the Modern Pertinence of Etiquette in the, “Den for Story Makers and Takers”


I remember when I was a child and the big joke in the library was to mock the angry librarian who hissed and insisted any noise-makers to quiet. Now an author struggling to become a money-making-published-word-carver, I do much of my editing in the quiet dwelling place of the bookman’s abode.

Unfortunately, there are still people, even my own age, who enjoy friendly stories and over-pompous smiles in this same place a modest author would just call a library, but a snob would call a ‘den for story-makers and takers.’

I cannot comprehend what comes over a person to fully engage in a conversation inside a library. I can see there are times we run into friends and are at the very least required to say, “Hello, How are you? – Me, I’m good. – Oh really! – Alright see you later.”

Anything more than that is unnecessary and rude. Oh, what’s that?? I’m being a prick for telling you to quiet when you feel like talking to your friend? Ah, I’m sorry, my mistake.

Please-shut-the-fuck-up and go pretend you’re cool somewhere else.

I don’t come to the library to look cool or impress anyone. I come to the library to get work done, and I’m pretty sure everyone else does, too. Even those pretty girls you see getting really drunk on Friday nights who accentuate¬† the ‘s’ sound at the end of every word they can possibly fit it into.

Yes, those girls.

So in conclusion, I would like to formerly invite that old, bead-chained-glasses wearing old strict ‘hag’ back to her place of work. We need you, I can’t take any more of these smiling ‘librarian’ good-for-nothings who leave me to do all the quieting for my pencil-pushing amigos.

If you like to talk when you are in the library,

You can suck-it.

– Thomas M. Watt

Let the Tree Grow


Tired sobs run through my head, nose congested feel like dread.

Tomorrow marks a big day for me, if tomorrow sparks then fire springs.

Yet right now I feel like sighing, so damn tired, so long been trying.

Can’t speak too much of things unsaid, can’t think too much just want my bed.

No more pain in sleep at night, no more turning sleepless nights.

I hope to God I move somewhere, I hope so badly that fruit will bear.

Moving on from living dreams, achieving them is the next best thing.

Thomas M. Watt