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Not Worth the Paper it’s Written on Poem
Don’t be too proud of your poetry
Keep it in a battered old suitcase
With a few x-rated magazines
And a half drunk bottle of Tequila
Make sure you spill cheap wine all over it
The cheaper the better.
Leave it tattooed with coffee mug rings
And smelling of dried cum and cigarette ash
Write more poetry on the reverse side
Then re-write it
Ignite it
Chew on the edges
And white out the words you don’t like.
In thick black pen write over the liquid paper
Put several variations of your name under the title
Have a non-de-plume for every mood
Don’t staple it or put paper clips on the corners
Don’t number the pages or keep within margins
Don’t imprison it with flowery borders
Or frame it on the wall.
And never ever send it to publishers
Or online magazines
Don’t bury it in scenic anthologies that cost you the world
Avoid reading it out to people
Don’t even read it to you
Just bang it out
And stuff it away.
Slip it under rotting carpet
Jam it between guttering
Peg it to the hills hoist
Push it up exhaust pipes
Shred it and then freeze the pieces in ice-cube trays.
Wipe your arse with it
Clean your pussy with it
Send it to every secretary personally addressed to her
Slip it into the garter of a stripper
Hand it over as legal tender to a prostitute after sex
Wrap it round your fist and punch a bureaucrat in the face.
But whatever you do
Do not be too proud of your poetry
It is one formation of words
In a world of billions and trillions
Of formations past and present
It is all the crap from your mind
And that’s all.
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