one poem that got reasonable exposure, and it's not even insinuated self-harming subject matter, mostly about drinking; i can't imagine writing too many lyrical lies, or trying to put a teenager's shoes on... i'm size eleven, when i was a teenager i was size 9... god it would be hard walking in those size nine shoes... but i probably could start to walk like a ballerina on crunch-the-toes tiptoe; so thank god i like the sound of the keyboard, and i treat the process of writing like i'd treat d.i.y., or watching the television.*

in the age of instant gratification,
in the realm of poetry, or anything
written... you will be
met by two great foes:
a. instant dis-satisfaction
and
        b. finding a publisher of books
            (yes, an entire book of your
              own work, not magazines
              which would only
              publish a single poem)
             will take you about 8 years
             (if not longer),
oh, last foe:
c. distribution is not guaranteed
by the publisher... the no. of sales
are not guaranteed either... but hey...
if the publisher prints one book at
about 15 - 20 zł (basically a packet of
cigarettes, 3 quid with the current
exchange rate)
you'd be dumb not to do it and
start peddling -
i've sat here and elsewhere for 8 years
waiting for this dream - and believe me,
the number of instant dis-satisfactory
moments i've encountered,
it's odd that i didn't give up -
but it's not that odd -
and i know about how dis-satisfactory
writing can be when you're just looking
at numbers jumping from 0 to 400,
hearts sunshine whatever -
it's too much like a pavlov experiment -
dangle dangle a piece of meat on a string,
toy with the poor dog, ring-a-ring-a-ding-****
bell... it's turning not only writers
but readers into pavlov's dogs;
or as nietzsche would have said it:
i believe my work is not a work for
my contemporaries, maybe some of
my readers haven't even been born yet.