I was told that in order to make memorable moments
I would have to sit in an uncomfortable chair,
which is why I lead a boring life
in the comfort of a plush chair
in an empty room,
without food or water,
or even television,
though the chair is awfully comfortable
feeding the poet will not be tolerated,
get back,
step back,
do not approach, or if you do, approach with extreme caution,
if they sense anything sweet or savory, then they will pounce and be on you like a boar on a wildebeest,
or whatever is their natural enemy,
wild dangerous poetic attacks can be the most vicious things you suffer,
but so long as you stay away,
do not approach,
and especially do not feed,
then most poets will die soon enough, hungry, emotion-filled lumps of clay,
with plenty of dust bunnies in their pocket
dying fashionable while bleeding out on the floor is a lot harder than you’d think
when you try to go vague,
but it’s the only way to die,
or else you end up as some ugly looking corpse that everyone laughs at
because they think you have a weird looking penis,
and that your muffin top is too muffiny,
which will lead to the coroner and whoever else comes to see your saggy, flabby body,
to conclude that you could never satisfy your wife properly,
and she’s probably better off now that you’re dead,
but at least I look good, I think,
can you tell me if I look okay in this pose?
Fred Aiken Writing