| ZYGOTE IN MY COFFEE.COM |
| ***BIO*** Mike Gustie believes his poetry should be considered Fanfiction about Existence and spread across the internet by 15-year-old girls who read manga. All his future poems may be published on quizilla, fanfiction.net, or an obscure usenet forum dedicated to sexually ambiguous cartoons. |
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| © 2007 zygoteinmycoffee Ink. |
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| Ezra, that Noisy Man |
| by Mike Gustie |
| I'd always considered myself
better than Ezra, Pound for Pound. I went to one of those roadside Palmistry/séance/tarot houses that thought the zodiac signs were intended to be neon. So the séance at which I insulted Ezra Pound went something like this: Me: Ezra, you're quite the twat. Ezra: Twat, did you say? Me: I said you're a cunt, a twat. Furthermore, your name is worse than “Gretchen” or “Olga”. Ezra: My name is quite respectable. Me: Fine, but your mother is a crime against nature. Ezra: Look, I have Otherworldly Choir in a half-hour. I'm singing canto number XXVII. Don't waste my time. Me: But Ezzie, your mom sucked a lot of cock. I mean, really. And nature abhors a vacuum. He made one of those throat-clearing noises that all men make after age seventy. Me: How do you sing those things anyway? Ezra: I have a xylophone made of human bone. Edna sings, and I work a political cipher into iterative octaves, building leitmotifs around economic ideologies. Me: Edna St. Vincent Millay? Ezra: She's a total floozy. Me: It’s possible to fuck in heaven? Ezra: You christocentric cumdumpster. All poets after me were faggots, and so are you. Stop wearing those damn hats. He didn't talk to me after that, but I knew right then that he was the bigger asshole, and hanging out in coffee shops really does make you French. |
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| Jan. 2007 |
| 77 |