These poets in the Internet e-zines have got me nervous and made me wonder if just saying stuff is OK.
They write about lonely, dying leaves on apple trees and old people wanking over porn.
Their relentless figurative language makes me scared and worried and like I want to meet them and say ‘fuck you’ then puke on them and their shitty poems and lives.
They’d say I’m boiling over with hate and jealousy, like a volcano belching lava over the flatlands of love.
These e-zine poets with their incestuous links list and closed shop brains are screwing with me like they wouldn’t believe.
Under the submission guidelines for one of these e-zines it says ‘this e-zine eschews self-indulgence.’
Great.
Bring on the pompous Big Topics.
Why not write about yourself?
It's the smallest topic you'll ever find.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment