Newsletters From An Old Poet

I’m a poet and I had no idea.

Here’s what’s happening in in me head: It’s so good when I read it! I have zero recollection of ever writing this! What came over me?! I think it’s terrible. How do I pronounce Oedipus, again?

A Dorothy Parker quote

Poems throughout my feed

Should I give poetry a go

Oh great a poem no one needs

Then Poe- A raven was soaring

I asked if poems had guidelines

He sang my poems will be boring

Frankly I think he crossed the line

I reread Oedipus Rex for fun

Poetic meter, incest and versed text

An ancient tragedy reading in the sun

Anxious from every minute to the next

I used to write jokes about dicks

And always loved a good limerick

So here’s some verse

Of course it’s perverse

God I wish I was dead right now

Yup that’s how it works

I could’ve been the next Shakespeare

The raven’s a fucking jerk

I should’ve made poetry my career

A rolling page of my Not In The New Yorker captions- updated all the time. The option to listen to me read my posts with witty asides, and the intended tenor. It’s all On Wax. No article-blue-balls. The cards I sent (anonymously) to my neighbor for years, trying to get him to trim his tree. Extra stories and pictures.

Paid subscribers have access to all of it. Now, who among us doesn’t want to have it all. Before spring turns to summer, you can manifest that dream for $2 a month. I bet you didn’t expect a miracle when you woke up this morning, but here we are. It might be the best $2 you’ll ever spend. Maybe it’ll be the worst $2 decision you’ve ever made. Aren’t you curious?