and a poem by a starving artist…
I aspire to be a starving artist
Living on the streets in the farthest
reaches of the globe
an ex-pat, or something contemporary, you know?
And there I’ll starve my way through essays
have meaningful encounters with crack addicts in alley ways
Learn to write in dialects
Foreign to what my fans can imagine or expect.
I want to die in a gutter like Poe
Rejected in life, but in death be so…
I want people to say it was a shame I died
Before my time
That I was always ahead of my time, in fact
It’s really a loss that she died like that.
I want History and English majors
(who will end up being teachers)
to scrutinize my every word
to write dissertations on my verse
and to speak to mood and tone and worse,
I want them to fantasize about my stories
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