I love the format and rhythm of this poem.
- Letters of intent, e-mails of rejection, notices of eviction, templates full of blank communication.
- Crazy love-talk, whiskey arguments, sweet nothings muttered ad hoc.
- Directions to signposts pointing back to directions. A sad sign of an editor’s directionless infections.
- Notes on napkins, smeared love potential, ball point penned, complete with missing periods
- Tweets, a 144 mosquitos buzzing itchiness into verse. Followers spray with their insecticide mirth.
- Submission rules, game rules, the ruling class and rules of engagement. Fortunately, words have rules of disarrangement.
- Author of the month, author of the year and they keep on authorizing. Sign here.
- Summation, contemplation, a unifying theory. We keep looking for one word, that explains the entire turd.
- The Ten Commandments never asked please, leaving us all screwed. I think The Word is by any definition, rude!
- Essays saved by the cloud, poems strung-out on word processor, welcome to the…
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