of sordid identifications.
Life is a conglomeration of
assorted impersonations.
Death is a feel good retrospective
of impersonal dogma.
Death is a bombastic experience
of invented nostalgia.
- I wrote this, another 'found' poem as the title indicates. Also, this was previously published by GSR about a year ago. Thanks to them.
A few things, first - Kara and I are starting work on my book to come out this year. Tentatively titled - "hands on the hips..." - this is a shortening of the original title which was to be, hands on the hips, wet lips on the warmth - I still may go with that and the ISBN is already registered with that title. Easy to change tho. We are hoping that it does well and have been planning the signings and book release party. More info to come on this.
second, I am going to ask plainly, pleadingly for everyone who reads me to forward this blog and, in general, advertise for me - is it easier to ask - what are you doing to help me become the most famous poet in America? One cannot do this on the merit of his writing alone - we must have believers and readers who sift through the myriad of other so called poets to get to us real poets who bleed on the page, who cannot sleep at night thinking about the set of words we are working on. I am open to readings, and whatever.
Thank you much.
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