Strut #1

When the first word of verse

arises,

and you feel Mr. Shahn’s ghost

breathing steam into your dry pen,

you just gotta grab it

and write on something that will keep,

or

won’t be exposed to the rain

ideally.

The first word brought forth the sun

and the leaves,

and the bees whisper it in the hive,

where no one else will ever leave alive,

and the first word shines

in the glint of every eye.

Who was first,

my body

or my personality?

My words haven’t developed in the last 29 years.

I was writing sonnets in the womb.

Soliloquys and telegrams,

an epigraph for my tomb.

I think I heard Kurt first.

Before I popped out to say hello,

my mom would wrap her headphones

around my shell.

“Oh well,

Whatever,

Nevermind.”

The first words are your worst.

Have you ever started to try writing?

Yeah.

If the first is your worst,

you will never live up to anything

more than second place.

These are the facts.

This is my face.

But first,

a word from my sponsor.

I don’t have a sponsor.

Yet.

Do you believe in patronage?

I would if I had a patron.

But first, a word from

THE LOGIC MONSTER

The probability of me placing first in art

is NONE.

Art is subjective.

My first word is better

than your entire discography.

Moocow

There.

Yeah.