why have most of these poets
killed themselves?
i wonder considering most
of these "peoms
they like me wrote of alcohol putting
objects in anus & this(his precedes
allen ginsberg's sphincter by a year so
what?
heartbreak bumming it around somewhere
& hobohemian exoticism
of bar & madhouse
do they do it for
join the ranks of? how banal
he's dead is
paul celan up floating in the seine &
mayakovski strokes his temple with
a gun & plath
cooks breakfast
how can i love the masters who hate life?
are they my masters?
i will not worship at the feet
who cut & ran &
call to their lines hipster ingénu or
some days the five inch & half gash on
my forearm
(for all the talk makes difficult
to type
& that's how know for sure that I
am not a poet
thank god