i never write poetry for a prize... i write poetry for the next poem, as in life... good or bad.*
i'm writing about a suicide, a top chef kind, chef benoît violer.... committed suicide, there were awards, there where the paparazzi, but when reading the article i was sitting at the other dinner table, i read the article taking a ****, and i thought: god it feels good, taking a ****... giving birth to something so worthwhile disposing off... god i love taking a ****... ought i hash-tag that? these nights when my boss gives me no thought juggle and knot into writing i take the easiest route: what's great about my life? the same **** that everyone does but isn't clued in... the pleasure of excavating a **** will hardly match up with archaeology... but still... taking a **** does all the *******' funfair injustice when it's dangling like a slur before it plops into the stinking pond... taking a **** never felt better... it's the little or the belittling that counts... never write poetry for a trophy or a prize of some sort... the essence of poetry will die otherwise... you'll get what you want, sure... but poetry will turn around and *****-slap you back into your place when you don't write for the next poem... i.e. 7 children, 28 grand-children... or a homophilic chinese uno, with a surrogate mother, 5 poems that make up the helium of an ego ballooned to excess with others laughing.