poem of the day 01.26.11

to the blogger who stole my writing

i guess i do believe that
art is universal
some of it good
but not as good as a stiff drink
or watching a woman
as her ass wobbles out of the room
most art is as interesting
as watching snow fall on a work day
or sitting through a political speech
but art is always there
and some of us
we grasp at it for life
it helps us to get through the fire
and the faces of the many
art can be understanding in its purest form
maybe that’s why
you keep stealing my poems and stories
and reposting them on your blog
you give me credit, yes
but sometimes credit is as good as blame
folks, you’re costing me publications
when you take my shit
you’re not costing me income
but you might as well be
money is hard to come by in the writing game
small glories even harder
what’s more
you’ve lumped me in with a sniveling bunch
by doing this to me
i feel cheated by air
my poor writer soul wounded
my fragile ego sending out emails
to all and sundry
telling them how badly that i have been wronged
i have to get up in the morning hungover
to write drivel like this
this act is unflattering on me
i don’t wear it well
and i blame you for the mask
i want to say that you could’ve asked me
for the poems
you could’ve dropped me a line
before pilfering the stories
and i most probably would’ve said yes
i’m easy
i enjoy seeing my name in lights
but you decided to steal from me
and all of those little journals, motherfucker
now i wouldn’t give you
the warts on my toes
or the hemorrhoids stuck deep
inside my asshole
mostly i wish you’d take the poems down
they look ugly up there on your web site
the short stories too
while you at it
remove the bukowski, the fante
and everybody else
write your own shit
pretend that you never heard of my little name
and i’ll pretend that i’ve never heard of yours
but i’m no dummy
and you’re no fool
we both realize that everything belongs
to everyone in the 21st century
your shit comes from the food that i eat
and your bad breath
comes from a night of my hard drinking
we’re simpatico in this ignorant bliss
swimming around happily in the same slop
this little poem a reminder
of what you’ll be having for breakfast
slowly turning into a parasite
flopping around in a spoonful of
your quickly cooling lunch
most probably posted on your fucking blog
before the sun has a chance to go down.