poetry reading, or, why i am not one

Music: Roy Orbison: Roy Orbison Sings the Lonely and Blue

Be cause I am not, that I am not Truth sashays, only to the tune Physis phoned in, that sour spirit, godless glottis (I can't get no, so, "blah blah blah") --props to Lacon-- Che rides motorcycles and diaries, and the gay man sitting on the floor on me laughed at all the anus malaprops

Bertrand was right to stop it, puttering tablets, he brought his own papers, petrified, pretty, puerile (and, dug, well, deeper purple than our reads) —trying to focus us stoned too many rules about fucking or Berating slow men and pixels, Being there in first places and there were too many men, and nipples were words harder rules, nipples as long as elephants he says (and Farid feigned, he got hard) no cry, no woman, except the Bee who gasped, lady cry

No woman, or gaped about speech, that not-secret queen, Jung animal (this town needs one [marked joke, with fruit bats in swarm the shadow]): "Birds in song/spit gold ropes." I lied too, and felt cry —I was whacked for the moment, swept even, a mocked bird, but too many rules about authenticity or Bating oneself out of the garage of the lonesome tailpipe huffer That stranger letter burns bushes, stuffing misogyny in faces, recompense drowns throats.

Batting or battling because, I don't know Be cause I am not one I don't feel it when I say it (something) people.

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Inspired by Farid Matuk's Is It the King?, which I strongly urge you to buy. It was a real treat to hear Farid read his stuff; unlike what they say about the movie version, the spoken word version makes clay breathe, but humbly.