is interesting in some way, at least, you know, in the sense of life’s work, you know,
everything you write is one huge poem in some weird sense. I kind of like that idea better.
—Jack Collom (during an “interview” with Reed Bye)
Now that I have written
the hundred thousand lines
you never asked for, shall I:
a) perform them all
for you, right now,
from beginning to end;
b) expire; or
c) dutifully retreat back
into the Dog of Job?
Please kindly respond within
five seconds (unless you’d like
to witness my attempt at choices
a, b, and c in simultaneity!).
