I go to Holland once a year
I fly into Schipol
Check into the Melk Hotel
unpack two shirts
Walk on down to the Red Light District
Ten blocks to the Angel Parlor
I ask for Heidi
Step into Heidi’s room
we don’t speak
She cuts off all my clothes
with a silver bayonet
Then she straps me up on a giant wheel
mounted on the wall
She spins me with her hands
and she eats me with her mouth
As I look out the window
at rows of perfect

Rows of perfect windmills
Perfect, wooden windmills

Heidi comes here once a year
flies into the Black Hills
checks into the Wolf Hotel
unpacks two skirts
Walks half a mile down the trail
to cabin seven
She taps on my window
Heidi steps into my room
We don’t speak
I cut off all her clothes
with a straight edge razor
She gets down on all fours
and straps on a crotch-less pony suit
I dig my spurs into her legs
I clutch my fingers in her mane
She stares out the window
at miles of perfect

Wheat fields
Miles of perfect wheat fields
Wheat fields
perfect, golden
Rows of perfect windmills
Wheat fields
perfect, golden windmills



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In the Press

We were blown away by Stuart’s pure genius. Finally a songwriter with something to say. We booked him on the show, calls started coming in “Who was that? Who was that you had on World Cafe?”

-Bruce Warren of WXPN/ World Cafe