One thought on “I Write Crap”

1. I write crap

   Let me tell you a secret.
   Butt you have to promise not to tell
   Anybody, promise to keep it
   Between us like two cheeks
   who have their shit together.
   Whether they have to go or not
   Pressed together in silence
   Like a fine chest of skin
   In an abstract photo
   A ripe breast folded in…
   Cleavage of the underside.

   I write crap
   I’m that poor poetic sap
   Drizzling diarrhettic verse
   On a blank page that I’ve somehow made worse.

   My journal’s the equivalent
   Of bound two-ply, half used
   To be one day perused
   By hind sight, scent
   To discover what my mind
   had left behind.

   No one gives a shit butt me
   About the process I poetically
   push constipated vapor
   Into form on toilet paper.

   Some poets write the glamour of the pen
   And the precision of ink, when
   I’m happy that it comes out at all
   No matter how words fall
   In the porcelain pool of poem stink.

   My chunky poems reflect me
   Glistening to those poetically
   writing on a sun swept slice
   of ocean life, eventually
   I’ll join them, if I remember to flush twice.

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