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MY HAMLET

     I was dreaming a harangue about a reaming when the phone rang.      I was fixing an idea. I had a screwdriver, a nail, a bucket and a very pale face in the mirror at the bottom of an orange juice can. I had another screwdriver; held the juice.      I picked up. Parted […]

Feel-Good Poetry

There’s a trend nowfor poetry that’s likesomething you’d stickon a t-shirt or toilet cubiclenext to ‘suck me.’ Feel-good, warm,quasi-philosophicalshit. And not the good shit. This loved up soupbrings in the groupieson Instagramand the ‘poets’make a living fromsmiling and spunkingin the permanentneon sunset. Oh, the remainsof Hollywood happy endings,brains scrambled into stickypudding. Bogdan Tiganov

OWED TO GREED

Pad over to the Poet’s pad. Surprise the clown making love to his fist. Hoping thereby – he grunts – to get a handle on some angle for an ode. Gets out, between gasps, concentrating on his two-stroke: “Booze in kitch, cabinet under sink, Popov – beside cleaning fluid can.” Spurts across the room at […]