"Verlaine’s pistol he used to shoot Rimbaud was once up for auction and was starting for around $80,000. I had about half that saved up from work + student loans + student grants and awards at the time. I thought maybe I could hawk everything I owned (computer, guitars, record collection, rare books) and sell my twink ass a bit to make up the rest. If I’d spent that money on the pistol, I would have had to drop out of school because I’d have no tuition money and would have been broke and homeless and in debt. Some nights I actually lie awake in bed soaking in my regret."
—Eris at Discordia Review
A fateful encounter with a poet.
"Lacaille 9352"
just king & the king's goons
carrying out foreplay
pale cerulean ragtime
berates the dung beetle
pillage the shrunk portions
on portico hoedown
no one stops at red lights
no one meets deadlines
we'll let mint massacres
mention us at floss time
overplus dusk aidles
car driving with tire flat
books i wrote reissued
robot-hoovered covers
the trestle my spraypaint
sprinkled now thankless
the king's gravel fortress
festers in its own time
never-sleep room's slippage
sly enough Fafnir
The greatest poem of all time was writ by an anonymous samurai.
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