The last two mornings, I start by asking myself what is frustrating me. While this seems an endless fontain of creativity, because the world is awful right now, I may be getting into some weirder shit.
Which, really, I am fine doing but it's just when the anger and disgust is laced with massive images of monster dicks attacking cities... Well, it's a different sort of thing to write. It is an interesting challenge, surely, to turn something like the below into anything but a goofy tirade. I want to write about the things that bother me without appearing to marginalize or minimize the seriousness of the issue at hand.
Also: who would publish this stuff? :/
Destroy all Monsters
Poetry always starts off innocently enough
scrawling pages of purple prose weaving lurid
descriptions of giant, white dicks emerging
from Washington DC and attacking
Brookline, Wichita, Colorado Springs.
Its so mundane now, like the worst
O'Hara lunch poem ever written about
crowds of women crushed under giant
testosterone-stuffed testicles. It
should be destroyed,
because see page after page after page of
dicks in clinics and
dicks in congress and
dicks in your phone...
In a dick-abundant world,
where are the moments
without the mosters?
They will find you
in the quiet and unexpecting minutes
and remind you to smile.