It's a poem, not a diary

[rayheinrich]

As for biographies --you know, those prose things -- some people have the effrontery to think those are a straight account of what happened! Would adam and eve it? I know a few simpletons, who read autobiographies and suppose them to reflect the writers' lives! Sad, ain't it? Probably just the intellectually degraded circles in which I move.....

And this internets thing! You'd think anybody who's ever used it awhile would have a clue.
Is "Uncle Danny" an uncle? A Danny? And what's this about candy and toy animals?

Everything I write is both a dairy and a prom. Why do people keep positing these false dichotomies?
Everything gets reflected, readers are beneath contempt, and writers are about forty-two levels below them.

Simple, too simple, the quest for complexity is a Promethean conceit.
Reach out your hand, open the door, it was never locked.

Everything I write all just depends on what rhymes with what and what clause should end a sentence, etc. It's all forced, if it's not rhyme and meter and syntax it's just syntax. I wouldn't have a clue what to write if I wasn't just trying to figure out how to complete a verb clause. It's not complexity, it's simplicity at its simplest. What sounds like a swoosh?

It's not that I'm shallow - I don't even have a surface.

I'm not a projection, I'm a conjecture. My voice is an emissary, and on the other end there is just another voice and if you listen closely you will hear yourself or else read something else because well, there's something fishy about me. Maybe my feats stink.

My children write half of my poems. My cat ate the rest. The ones I publish are produced by the young man we keep in the basement and beets brutally with a stick until his murmurings sound avant garde, revolutionary and conceptual.

no syntax you on syntax not
has syntax you no cat no child
these cats eat floor eat words eat hair
eat cats these cats these feats where lies
this old this cat this soul this me
you mine you swoosh you algernon
you cats ate flowers lay they lie
they nibble feet bewilderments
no light behind no eye no front
no eye no mind immaculate
suffice all fine all fur all where
all fantasy contrivable
transfiguration lies word lies
where lies beneath the teeth the teat
conception eats where voice becomes
believes be flesh be why be where
these surface cats suffice all souls
surrender blessed virgin cats
all fine all fur all sacrifice