I Dreamt

I dreamt I was given an award for the Most Horrible Person Almost in American Poetry.*

Note: This was not the award for Almost the Most Horrible Person in American Poetry.

Because that person wouldn't win, like, anything.

You need the superlative.

I accepted the award in my usual lounge pants, the ones with Family Guy all over them.

I couldn't see the audience for the bright lights they were shining in my eyes, and that's when I heard the first rifle shots...

I almost bought Marina and Lee at the thrift store tonight. It was one of the books I reluctantly put back.

I didn't think that would go over well with the federal agents who have me under surveillance.

Leave romanticizing Presidential assassins to Stephen Sondheim, Bill...




*Well, long before Y'All kicked me out I seceded. See the link at right for my Secession Statement from American Poetry. I only visit occasionally, and that in the middle of the night. Sort of like Johns Wilkes Booth's friends when he entertained them in D.C. on winter nights.