50th Week Of Poetry

October 9



It’s all relative

It’s all the same

It’s just Humanity

It’s just bleakness

and bitterness

seeping into who and what I am

but then

I’m just talking shit

writing shit

doing shit

whatever it is

my fixation on shit will always be

at the forefront of the poetry movement

of the millisecond


everything wrong

Of course.


October 10

Who am I?

Not Jean Valjean, that’s for sure

Who am I?

What is it, to be a person?

To have a soul?

Does identity rest on music taste?

Does love rest on whether or not that person loves Joe Pesci and Robert De Niro movies?

And the most important question is this:

Does it really matter what you come up with

to satiate your need

to be important

to feel special

with a purpose in life and what not

when we all end up

in the ground

as worm food?

October 11: Amerika


The stars overhead

Rhyme with overhead

Overhead, stars and stripes

and the old red, white, and blue

of an America,

of an Americana,

that doesn’t stop when it’s made a point

and just knows how to screw up more.


But hey, we’ve got the biggest defense budget,

the most military bases all around the world,

and the most ridiculous patriotism that can reach

fever pitches

in no time flat.


We’ve got the biggest bombs

I guess we’re desperate to prove our machoness


I guess we’re desperate to show the world

we don’t have small dick syndrome


But we do.

Of course.


America, when will you sing like Allen Ginsberg and Walt Whitman

wanted you to? When will you forget the angelic bombs, forget the military-industrial-conglomerate

budget industries and just fuck for once and let all things pass?




In this foul year of our Lord, 2013, and not a damn thing has changed, America, not a damn thing;

What do I do, when singing a song of myself doesn’t work?

When hoping beyond hope that you’ll change your mind and fix things, for once?

What do I do?

What do you do, America?


I wonder what the World, and even the Universe itself, thinks of the way things are going.


I’m sure Cthulhu is crying right now.

I don’t blame him.

I don’t blame him at all.

Goodbye, America; I’ll send you a postcard.


October 12: This is how NOT to write a poem


This is how NOT to write a poem

So take notes children

And pay heed to what I say:

If you do, and if you rhyme in every poem

And commit cliches like crazy and straight out of your bum

Poets are a fickle bunch

Ponies are, too

Just talk about trees

Just talk about bees

Or birds, whatever you prefer

Or words, whatever you like to slur

So, rhyme rhyme rhyme, children of the night

Rhyme Rhyme Rhyme, it doesn’t bite

Words don’t bite, hopefully enough

They just soften blows, and can be used for memos

Or maybe it’s all fluff

Maybe it’s all prose, and demos

This is how NOT to write a poem

Forgive me for repeating it twice

Repetition is always quite nice





And so on

I’m a poet and I didn’t even know it

All of the money is gonna go to me

I alone will rule supreme

Or you, too, if you repeat the

same old shit

By the way, have I told you how

indy and independent

I am?

I don’t just go to coffee shops to read my shit


Lester’s all day

Mustache Hall of Fame

Poetry is Poetry is like a tree is Poetry

Am I insane with words enough for you?

Do you get it?

Do you get the picture?

Please tell me you do

I’m tired of treating all of you like your




The first half is how NOT to write a poem

The last few lines of insanity are how TO write a poem,

even a crazy one; those ones, those are the best ones to have.

Write from the gut

Write from the heart

Write from the brain

Write from the balls or the ovaries

or the penis or the vagina

or the cunt or the ovaries or the clitories

Or the Dick

Just Fucking Write like how you feel like writing



October 13


Be stupid

Be you

Live Free or Die


October 14



Please and

Thank You.


October 15


If Lady Gaga can have you in her

Sex Dreams

then why can’t I?



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