Campaign for Really
Authentic Poetry
He's slouching publy alone, inhaling sweat
of drinkers. Join you? Why, fatso,
you're Loebing Thucidides, no. Barmaid
likes men. Ploy to take her out
Like Dresden. What you yatter apropos
fucking spouse? The way his points
brook no widening -- town's toy, he's
happy up on them. His favourite
word's pronounced [khi:ç], used for clinching
arguments, driving them home. Toilet training,
childhood's low point, scarred issues of
faith (Good's tenuous here), but now
's liberal, likes noise, wears donkey-jackets,
howls, Loadsa really beautiful burds, eh?
towards coiled hatred's sickened company. Won't
find himself here. Too downright happy.
from 'me generation', Writers Forum, 1997
Read A note on serial poetry (June 2002)
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