to write a novel takes but time & mucho chutzpah
though i have had a bunch of both i wrote no novels
the future comes to end our whims with picks & shovels
i whispered to the ghosts & ghosts took it for gospel
the once & future planet Pluto held my gaze
mongoose of a silvery snake or raving flicker
meanwhile all the rivers of this poet biz
dried up one by one & left us squatting Blackacre
the clock's hands move t'ward less & curiouser ullage
the loaves i turn out turn on the turnip-headed baker
to make a flop like this it takes a gloating village
i follow like a compass that stern brimstone sillage
"No age has produced an artist who paints a tempest on the canvas in the whirl of tempests." --The Daily Life of Ku-poh the Novelist
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