mani. f***in. festo.

I'M BACK.
I don't care who thinks otherwise. This
is a first-rate poem! by my own standards,
and no other. Hast a poet
any other standards than that? FUCK HIM,
HER AND ZEM IF SO! SELLOUT!! You deserve to fail,

hast ye

any other standards than thine own, and I
rock it olde schoole
on that point, if on no other.

Frankly, the affectation galls. Rockin' it,
or attempting to,
olde schoole.

It galls and palls. I am gallin' and pallin' it, olde schoole,
on that tip, and I myself admit
I can't sustain. Not on the basis of that shit,
but good news to me: I don't have to. I makes my excuses, and moves on:
It comes of reading too much Sherlock Fucking Holmes,
and listening to too much didgeridoo music,
and Shaka Khan, but leave that disco
to the dance floor.

At any event.

I'M BACK, and to such a voracious extent, you are looking
(or listening, or reading along) to a man
with no apologies or tricks. Nor should any universe have,
and may I underscore this:

Each of you.

And every sentient being,

is a universe. And

had better come to priorgenerativebeingfucking terms
with it.

Or else,
if you dont, I
myself, I!

Will have the better of you. And you will have no one to blame,
but myself. And I'll accept it and laugh,

And where will you be better off? Well, you'll be stuck
way back behind me, with

fact.