There are those who suppose
That the New Poets are masturbating their own adolescence
screaming obscene into microphone bowels
As though their guts could think.
But… people fuck and shit.
And if meaning is indigestible
What good is it to me?
I wish I had something new to tell you about your crotch or your asshole.
But I don’t.
Yesterday I got stung by a bee.
If I were a hipster,
I would admit that I like that venom buzz.
Not everyone has been stung by a bee.
If I were old-fashioned,
I would admit that God did it.
I can handle his bee-stings and sting back.
When I’m dead he’ll win whether he shows up for the game or not.

2 Responses to “”

  1. Richard Cody Says:

    Yeah. God always wins. Whether one believes in him/her or not.

  2. Marian Says:

    if meaning is indigestible what good is it to me?
    i rather love this reflection.

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