MY DREAMS THEY RUN AWAY LIKE WILD HORSES OVER THE HILLS
Yesterday a good friend said: be careful what you ask for
re: my dream career in advertising They’ll give you toilet
paper ads It won’t all be work with über cool fashionistas
That’s just fine with me For who really knows what will
become of my poems + the paper on which they are written
All flung daily into the re-cycle bin Toilet paper filled with
ghosts of poems Hours Days Months +Years Dredging
Digging in the dirt Reaching higher than the holy clouds over
Jerusalem (Orange ape inciting race hate as i write)
This conundrum is not unlike that of Tom Petty’s Now pushing
up daisies Still largely unmourned Tom sightings on Ventura
highway daily Once when a horrified Thomas gazed out onto a
boooo-ing crowd he was told: Don’t worry man! They’re not
boooo-ing you They’re cheering for Bruuuuce Sprinsteen!
Same thing! Tom intoned in his characteristic nasal groan
Well this is exactly my feeling about writing copy for toilet paper
versus exploding vowels +receiving shitty rejection letters Or
fielding the soul marauding question: What exactly did you mean
when you wrote —- ? So bring me your privies Your porcelain
buses And I will wipe away tears +turn on multitudes!
*(now how is that for a literary toilet paper ad?)
Winter 2017 ..missing tom david leonard lou et al.