I've been working on one poem for a few hours.
I am no longer able to tell when something I write is good or not.
I've had a very strong urge to be famous latley.
I would rather not gather in a big group talking to people I don't know and telling them my first and last name and them telling me their first and last name.
I feel lumpy and full and lonley.
I would write home, but I can't find the time.
I would continue to eat, as it is the only thing that really makes sense anymore.
Comma Splice.
4 comments:
let's get together to eat again soon and maybe discuss how to get more famous quicker
caravan of dreams has a $17 nacho plate
you should delete a line of this post and add to it and email it to me and title it and i'll publish it on 3 a.m. magazine giving you a little fame if you want it
http://www.3ammagazine.com/3am/index/poetry/
okay I will do the things you say and then send it to you in an email and then ill be famous and people will ask me for my autograph at think.
$17 Nacho Plates are a white bourgeois privilege.
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