reality arose
(a rose?)
from sensual
you can’t smell
a rose in a poem
between words
a fissure
for vividness
to eventuate
my first argument
was with a tree
which I won
I think
that cold
raw comfortlessness
that comes
from stubbornness
is from this ridiculous
thing between
my legs
the calamity
of the century this is surely
the worst poem
ever written
which is something
now you can say
you were there
you were a part
of history
you loser