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Leaning On The Parameters of Sanity got a letter fromBurning Woodchuck Review: Dear Poet,  Sorry, but my Russian
Wolfhound, Dostoyevsky defecated on all the submissions for issue #3. I tried to save everyone's writing, but the smell & smear finally got to me. Was your poem about catching your brother cornholing his buddy while watching Andy Griffith? Or was it the one about the nuns with the giant dildo hid inside the hollowed crucifix? Please, resubmit. having never heard of any of this, i pour my glass half full of vodka squeeze a lime in & drain it the cinnamon moon is a slice less than full shining through the web in the window where two flies struggle waiting for the black widow |
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when he died
he wanted his body shot out of a cannon decorated as a penis with wildflowers in the nude over the Grand Canyon with several sticks of lit dynamite shoved up his ass then he wanted everyone to clap with one hand |
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