and a poem by a starving artist…

Unkilled Darlings


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…

Well known.

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,

to symbolization.

I want them to fantasize about my stories

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