I Write Crap

Back to reading poems from my basement.  This one might not be appropriate for all audiences.

I’ll add the text of the poem later today in the comments.

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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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