William Keckler. Poet, Narcissist, Blawger. Sad clairvoyant. Answering machine for the dead. Beep. Formerly, the Valerie Solanas of American poetry blogs. If I owe you an apology, I'm saying it right here. J'accuse la manie. Butthole Whisperer and erstwhile poacher/harvester of ivory. Out of Africa and deepest Harrisburg. Goreyphile from a very early age. Bipolar bear much baited by circus freaks. Let's watch crackheads watch RUGRATS on vintage NICKELODEON.
WHORE PIECE:
Be a whore for a year.
This means a literal whore.
Have sex only for money.
Have sex only with people you despise.
Throw all the money you earn
into the sea late at night.
Come back the next day
and see if any money washed ashore. Complain.
I wish I could say humans move me closer to God, but usually it's the Cocteau Twins. I'm crazy as a Trappist monk talk show.How come nobody ever complains that they're overrated? I have poetry horror stories. I don't hate anyone but human coat hangers get on my nerves. Cliquey sons-'a'-bitches. Son, I am disappoint. The greatest weakness of anything is that it's not something else. Disability niggah. I cannibalized a hipster and I liked it. Pray for me.
4 comments:
This is just so good it's sick. For realz.
((((Todd))))
You have been writing some great poems I've been using to kick start my blog mornings lately.
You and Mary R's Tristimania book have worked better than ativan + valerian lately.
superfluity of emotion now over.
i agree with mr. colby
Thanks, Bumpo!
I know your REAL name, but I prefer calling you Bumpo.
I like imagine a store with all your creations someday where I can walk in under a giant BUMPO's glowing in some nice color or other.
This is probably so "not you" but it is consumerist me (or I for people snotty with their grammar).
I need to blogcheck you and see what you're up to.
I hope you're intending to share those millions you're getting from Mr. Augy-Doggy or whatever his name is.
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