Changes

poetry. For after years of humiliation, I have finally learned learned that to humanize our poems, we must shit on on them. We must shit freely, with arms raised, as detectives detectives in blue sport coats examine our feces for sustainability, all the while fighting off other detectives in bluer sport coats who take our poetic leakage to their laboratories to search for parasitic demons, or diamonds, depending on the angle.We smear what drips from our self-inflicted wounds onto our verses, combining blood and ink into new poetic forms in which we rub our faces, the better to smell our disgusting children with, the better to drool on our disgusting children with; and once wehave bled and drooled and driveled, we declare our poems complete, the better to wipe our asses with, before submitting them for publication. We smear our typewriters with pus and semen, and chastise any fool crass enough to declare himself a poet,an offense punishable by confinement in a cagesurrounded by Barbaric Writers who expectorate between the distinguished author’s eyes, his hands tied behind his back to prevent him from cleaning his face. For poetry is hard work! It is hard to create such filthy, vile putrescence.