I am going to open up a flarf Injured Wildlife Sanctuary. Since I encounter so many poets who have been traumatized by flarf, I think there is a good living to be made in it.
I will post my number on telephone poles (little dotted line tear offs) in places where nature is most likely to show her horrible mettle and injure flarfists.
And then people will call me when another one has been injured, and I will bring a cardboard box and a blanket where the flarfist can coil up safely until I get him or her back to the Sanctuary.
"Don't worry, little fella," I will say in my most comforting voice.
"You're only a few miles from an eyedropper filled with milk and a few hours of deprogramming with a guy I subcontract with."
"Then you will be released in the wild again, with a new found respect and fear of the danger of poetry movements. Don't worry, we'll let you go where they don't roam...someplace safe like Nebraska or Florida..."
I smell money in this.
KA-CHING!
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