this is me, after poetry class, waiting for the guy who drives me home to drive me home. today i had to read my newest poems to the class. most of them are either dirty or embarrassing. one of them is about a guy in the class, the guy who drives me home, but i changed it and said it was about a guy on the bus. that was one of the dirty ones. i think the class hated them all. oh well. who likes poetry anyway? here is a really short one about my time in the high desert:
i shot a fanta can
who cares that it’s ridiculous? i like it. poetry is dead anyway so i can write whatever the fuck i want.