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Showing posts from November, 2014

"Cucumbers," "Block," "Spit," and "Assessment": This Fuckin' Guy Discusses Himself and His Process, Engages in Self Promotion, And Comes Up With Something, Maybe, While Listening to PiL.

Cucumbers Damn, my last poem was almost two fucking weeks ago? Did you fucking miss me? I fucking missed me. What the fuck have I been fucking doing? Well, my job, for one thing-- I do have a fucking job, And a daughter, These are matters of public fucking record, But the real and actual reason I've been a little missing in fucking action Is I haven't had a fucking thing to say. Or like maybe the things I might have thought Would make good fucking poems I'm not so fucking sure about anymore. Like last fucking Sunday, A week ago today, I was at a fucking party, And we were talking about cucumbers, And I was like, "Fuck yes, cucumbers, They are very  really fucking refreshing and shit," And so on, And yes, I really do fucking like fucking cucumbers, But even as I was talking about it, As Ray's motherfucking party, I was thinking, "Fuck me, This Fuckin' Guy Is really scaping the bottom of the motherfucking barrel." And