POETRY WORKSHOP GUY SHIPPENBERGER
At my feet lies a puddle of mystery, the
old hankering after one million myths
of time. No energy greater than this :
the motherlode of what builds up.
The poetry workshop guy comes over,
after listening, and says 'why did you
ever write that ? and when you wrote it,
why did you write it like that ? What
were you trying to say ?' I looked back
and said 'look here chickhead headhaven
honcho guy, I said what I said - don't ask
why. Or I'll put my modifier foot right up
your iambic protractor diameter, and how'd
you then like that?' He ran off. Only later
did I admit I was faking, and had no plans
at all. After that, things were better; until
his wife got involved (who may once have
been a man. I couldn't tell). Oh swell.
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