maybe I'm no good.



if later it was later said of me, He was a very bad Internet poet - that'd be fine. Someone would look up from their draft beer and ask, Was he even a poet?



and the barkeep would say, Oh hell yes, he was a poet. He was definitely a fuckin poet. Just a very bad one.



it still would be something



it occurs to me that I invoked a strange image of bestiality in an unrequited dream lover poem as if that was like a good thing



but fuck it.



I might get to telling you a little of that other story today. That one brother he lives in a tent trailer in the woods behind a hunting camp he plumbed himself. ah fuck it



you know, you feel like a good person but are you really the fuckin authority on that jazz? Maybe I'm fuckin evil and don't know it. Maybe God don't like cantankerous.



but at least I ain't bitter. and try to say truth.



what a fuckin world it is

what a fuckin world