We were reading to ourselves. Sometimes to others.
—John Ahsbery
A little self-aggrandizement.
A shaker full of poetry for
your pommes frites?
Ah, heck, I’ve been
doing this for decades.
When is an elder old
enough to whom one
younger should defer?
Never, of course (a horse
is a horse). I have yet to
understand what type of
validation this would be --
everything I do is (for) a
validation of some sort.
Would you be amenable
with variations by hue?
by flavor? by genus or
species? Given that the
poet, otherwise known as
a carney or a witch (did
the Sirens rhyme?), is
poetical, let the usses
do the voodoo that who
do. Let’s imagine for
whimsy’s sake that
we are not all (wink,
wink) witty wordsters.
Some of us may be
normal. I say that we
let a layperson decide.
I myself am from
Tuscaloosa. And
what do we say
down in Tuscaloosa?
We say it’s all about
career path. We got
that from Mentors
for Dummies. Wasn’t
this supposed to be
an advertisement,
both meta and
metaphorical,
about a new
side gig. I
hear it might
be related to me,
to this here, to
all of this nonsense.
Side gigs are
helping the
economy and
they’re an ex
cellent way to
make an extra buck.
Decide what?
We Can’t Do This?
