Like Diogenes the Cynic I throw excrement though it’s not real, just words, words and words. All I want is your attention, like the sad student who sat beside me in the Writer’s Workshop who pulled from his pocket a deck of “serial killer trading cards.” He ignored the poets in the room. He was fixated on Doo Doo Dahmer. That’s not me. I want you to have a better life than the one you’re forced to live so I toss words around like my drunk uncle who was a never do well plumber who’d throw hammers in the garage. “Anaphylactic”; “suborning”; “misieracordia”; “Stalinist suitcase”; “Mac & Cheese”–(you don’t pay extra for the insect parts.)
Diogenes threw real turds.