I wrote a poem the other day.
It was terrible.
So i peeled all the letters
off the page and choked them one by
one until they stopped breathing and the
air got really silent.
Then I turned on this old jazz
record that I found at a garage sale for just under
2 full canadian dollars,
and I let dirty wet jazz soak my carpet and my face and my neck and my arms and my chest and my legs and my feet.
I tore up a sheet of paper that used to have a poem on it the other day.
It was terrible.














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