in the submission rules
for a little mag
it said
' no bukowski style
im drinking
im writing
its great
sort of stuff
thank you '
maybe i get what they mean
and i cant drink anymore anyway
but i hear a snobbish drift
and pleas for rhymes about daisies
those small eclusions
hold essentials markers
of
truth
creation
escape
and
the screaming
at the thin end of it all
that theyve never heard
and wouldnt even know
if it blew out their arseholes
during their broadsheet sunday brunch
by buk from poetryfoundation.org
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