I now have one regular patron who sends a monthly contribution to keep this poet alive. Yes, per usual, I'm a poor poet...and for some reason I'm a poor poet in its many meanings...but someone like my patron loves my work. If you become a sustaining patron I can guarantee you'll see writing from me on a regular basis. I do edit my mad. But I don't always hit it out of the park. At least my patrons have a chance to select from all my work...and they become the editors rather than the small-minded who often edit magazines and journals. Poet James Wright,one of his last books, held by two editors for the longest time that his wife Anne took to another publisher who snapped it up and it became a huge success. Now I don't have people like Robert Bly, Don Hall, or their equals I can send my poems to for a review before I put them on the internet or send to any publisher. I believe in opening up my "horde" for the world to critique or love. And it's expensive to send out my work, getting only rejection, so it's money I don't have for food, or the electric bill. Please send what you can via my email: via Paypal. I thank those who support me one way or another.


Thank you to those who have contributed via Paypal to support my writing. My account at Paypal is the same as my email: rikwrybac(at)

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Thursday, August 2, 2012

The Justify Sonata for Brain and Colon

What I bought I now sell on Ebay
to gain a few bucks for what
I no longer use
which I used to justify
my existence
and the string of bullshit
to which I attached myself

Now I realize
the manufacturer
is bidding up the price
on my used item
against the great unwashed
in order to keep their new product
valuable in the marketplace
so that snobs will keep buying
what they probably make
for pennies on the dollar

They bid on my thing
to keep their thing posh

(It's like tattooing your cock
with the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel
instead of a barber pole)

And that's the point isn't it
to build a stack of shit so high
that people will feel good
they've hired you
or bought your product

and you thought this
was going to be a poem
filled with rare Amazonian orchids
and nectar drool snot droplets
with rare and phantasmagorical fauna
enough for ten expeditions
and one-off high-buck phrases
to make you feel justified
to spend this time
to absorb what I write
when a poem is only a piece of shit
sticking out of the poet's colon
able to make that musical splash
in the toilet of your imagination

So how is that a sonata you ask
(the poet references the title
of his majestic creation)
hey it's a musical term that makes
you think I'm edjikated
and trying to pull
images from various encyclopedias
of human experience
when all I am
is another corporation
to be sure a poor one
trying to game you
into a purchase
at a price that will make you
believe you have something
of value
Thank you
dear reader
because my share
of your unconscious mind
is now assured

Copyright (c) 2012 by Barry G. Wick

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