Monday, February 1, 2016
Song of my Selfi Relince
There is a reason for posting and posting,
calling attention to myself and my
wanna-be oracular profound wit and
whimsy—for the same reason one plays
golf, carries a bag of clubs to hit balls.
Ok: also I want to be liked, really liked.
See me. Hear me. etc. Running for
President of Facebook. Topping out
Mazlow’s hierarchy of neediness.
Cover up my annoyance, irritation,
jealousy, desire, hate, fear, anxiety
insecurity, badness—under wraps,
in the cellar, attic. Makes good sense.
Not a word. Me: polite. Trump: bastard
I know there’s an immigrant problem
Devastation in Syria. And more