So I missed the boat for timely entrance into Ween fandom and I only really started listening to anything more than an occasional blare of “Ocean Man,” which everyone agrees is entry level Ween, in my late twenties. Maybe that’s a good thing, all things considered; they say not to meet your heroes, and Gene Ween is my fucking hero.
Nonfiction
![](https://i0.wp.com/cutleafjournal.com/wp-content/uploads/2022/11/32807910330_2da492b974_b.jpeg?resize=363%2C188&ssl=1)
Half the Sky is Grey with Shame
The mango tree outside the mosque had grown wild, its branches cast shades over the rusty train track. The cars’ skeletons in front of our old house were in a nearly perfect line, as I believe we would all be on the day of resurrection.
![](https://i0.wp.com/cutleafjournal.com/wp-content/uploads/2022/08/nbstairs_52195693923_o.jpeg?resize=363%2C188&ssl=1)
Mending Fence
The moment for celebration passes, when a green snake swivels out from the tree carcass turned black shards and crumbles. The snake churns toward your yard, and turns toward mine, then back toward your home.