MEDIA CONTACT: Mike McGee
Email: mightymikemcgee@gmail.com

The Oversocial Mofo Revue

Variety Performance Showcase and Poetry Slam

Debut Show: Friday September 10, 2010

The Oversocial Mofo Revue is a groundbreaking new variety show from the producer’s of San José’s annual 25-Hour Summer Slumberfest. Each Revue presents an energetic Bay Area band or musician, a nationally-acclaimed spoken word artist, and a special “uncommon act” consisting of anything from stand-up comedy to circus performance to short film. Audience members are encouraged to participate in a host of games and contests including the official San José Poetry Slam – one of the toughest local poetry competitions in the U.S. – in which the winner receives a cash prize and a chance to represent San Jose at the National Poetry Slam.

The September 10th debut will showcase Oakland’s notorious poet-showman Jamie DeWolf, the dreamy sounds of the South Bay’s own Gold Hush, and San Francisco’s comedian extraordinaire, Mary Van Note.

Hosted by San José’s champions of spoken word and page, “Mighty” Mike McGee and David Perez, along with San Francisco’s Tatyana Brown. The Oversocial Mofo Revue is set to the musical stylings of The John Staedler Symphony Orchestra.

WHEN
Friday, September 10, 2010. Line-up 7:30pm. Show starts promptly at 8:00pm.

WHERE
Anno Domini
366 South First Street

San Jose, CA 95113

(408) 271-5155

TICKETS
Admission is between $6 and $11. You pay a base price of $5 then roll a die and pay the amount showing on the die. $5 for students with I.D. Limited space. First come, first serve.


FOR NERDS: $5+D6

MORE INFO
Site: http://www.mikemcgee.net/mofo
Facebook: http://tinyurl.com/fbmofo

UPDATED: JULY 2, 2010

As you may know, I have recently become a fan of humorous and funny poetry. (Discovered it last year while playing Scrabble™ Brand Board Game with myself in a motel in Dallas.)

I also enjoy designing and putting together chapbooks, just not my own. So, I have a project in mind that I would like to put together by December 2010. I call it, Short Ones For The Shitter. (Hereto and furthermore referred to as “SOFTS”)

MY MISSION
To produce an inexpensive and hilarious poetic publication to be left in bathrooms around the world, but not limited to. Cheap but nice look’n!

NOT JUST POEMS! SUBMIT ANY TYPE OF SHORT WORK THAT MAKES PEOPLE LAUGH! LISTS, BIOS, PALINDROMES, POETRY, ORIGINAL JOKES, ANECDOTES, STORIES!

THE PROCESS
–Submit up to two short poems or a hilarious piece of writing – no more than 350 words – that you KNOW (or someone has told you) are the funniest pieces you have. The idea is to have one poem per page.
–Email them to me at my Gmail account: ilikemike
–You MUST subject your email with: SOFTS Submission 2010
–Submissions must be sent in by Tuesday, June 29 Friday, July 2, 2010 at 11:59pm.
–NOTE: By submitting, you give us permission to include these in this collection.
–Please denote under the title of each poem when and where it has been published previously, if applicable.
–Wait.

PROOFREADING AND EDITING
Victor Infante and I will proofread and edit the final manuscript.

Here is the list of people I’ve asked to judge:

CONFIRMED
Tony Brown
Shappy Seasholtz
Shanny Jean Maney-Magnuson
Tim Stafford
Joel Chmara
Lea C. Deschenes
Megan Thoma

STILL WAITING ON CONFIRMATION FROM
Mahogany Browne
Sonya Renee Taylor
Beau Sia

NOTE: I will ask them to consider as many topics, styles, and levels of humor as possible when selecting their favorites. I will ask them to pass on works that are distasteful.

I WILL NOT ACCEPT OFFENSIVE WORKS OR POEMS THAT PROMOTE ABUSE, RACISM, SEXISM, MISOGYNY, OR WORKS THAT ARE SIMPLY GROTESQUE. THIS IS A BATHROOM BOOK, NOT A BATHROOM-HUMOR BOOK.

FORMAT
–Submissions must be Arial or Helvetica 12-point font, aligned left.
–TITLES IN CAPS AND BOLD.
–Author’s name under title.
–Your email address.
–Any previous publication acknowledgments under author’s name.
–SEND ONLY ONE .doc or .txt file! (Thanks, Amy!) with your name in the file title.

I WILL
–Choose a selection committee of up to three around eight (8) selectors.
–Select around 25-40 poems for print.
–Do my best to respond to everybody whether or not we select your submission to be included.
–Oversee the initial print run, be it myself or through a 3rd party printer.
–Start with a short run and see where things go.
–Send one free copy to those selected for publication.
–Sell them from my site and on the road.

OTHERS WILL
–Buy this chapbook.
–Read it.
–Laugh.
–Leave it in their bathroom for others to read while shitting or peeing sitting down.
–Be glad we did this.
–Hear their friends laugh from their bathroom.
–Hope it’s because they’re reading SOFTS.
———
Word to the nerd.

They were popular. They were douchebags. They were probably popular because they were douchebags, or they were douchebags because they were popular. My money’s on the latter as it was likely an affection I needed to see in them in order to not like them.

One of the radio stations I listen to here in Worcester plays A LOT of music from the 1990s. They refer to it as retro. Retro Lunch. Retro Hour. Retro, retro, retro. They just played Third Eye Blind’s “Never Let You Go.” It made me happy. This is not the first time in the last year one of their songs made me happy. I realized that it’s just another sound that takes me back to good places.

I told my roommate today that life is a winding challenge to collect more good moments than bad moments. I do believe we also have neutral moments, but I surely have more positive ones than negative.

It’s true: 1990 was a fifth of a century ago. That’s a long time ago. This week, twenty years ago, I was probably considering cutting my eighth grade classes to go hang out with friends and wander around San José, because “nobody’s gonna tell me what to do and I sure don’t need school right now…”

I think so fondly of the 90s. I am taken to such amazing places through its music, film and television. Even the fashion, political spectrum and architecture are fascinating to me. I very much enjoy reflecting on that decade. I learned a lot in it and remember most of it. I am proud to have made it to my mid-30s, and thinking on this does not make me feel old, just a bit wistful.

I remember watching my friend hook up his brand new 14.4k fax modem and not understanding what it was for, but enjoying his eagerness to teach me.

Shock rippled through my body when I heard Kurt Cobain died. I first voted in the 1996 election with my grandmother. Since the news polls had Clinton clinching it by the time I got to cast my ballot, I gave my vote to Nader in the hope that it would boost a third party. That was also the same election California voted for legalizing medicinal marijuana. My conservative grandmother and I both voted yes. It was cool.

So Third Eye Blind just played on the radio and it had no negative impact on me whatsoever. That to me is a huge sign of growth and maturation. Looking them up at their site and seeing they’re still together and touring made even happier for them. They look like they have fun being musicians and who can blame them for that. I may actually buy a few of their tracks soon.

Maybe I was the douchebag back then.

Check them out: Third Eye Blind
———
Word to the rad.

MIKE MCGEE’S LAST MINUTE NAPOWRIMO 30/3/1 (30 POEMS/3 WORDS/1 DAY)

ONE
Food chews me.

TWO
I farted twice.

THREE
Heart trembles. Stay.

FOUR
We are easier.

FIVE
Goodbye, perfect match.

SIX
Not so lonely.

SEVEN
You choose me.

EIGHT
I fear mayonnaise.

NINE
Lipstick, my collar.

TEN
Bad handjob day?

ELEVEN
Ice cream alone.

TWELVE
Ogling your curves.

THIRTEEN
I owe many.

FOURTEEN
Mirror says, “Hi.”

FIFTEEN
Habit beats diet.

SIXTEEN
You farted thrice.

SEVENTEEN
Thumbless high four.

EIGHTEEN
Vulva beer stein.

NINETEEN
Nice guy code.

TWENTY
One more wish.

TWENTY ONE
Porque no ham?

TWENTY TWO
More fat giraffes.

TWENTY THREE
Imagine my death.

TWENTY FOUR
Smile for others.

TWENTY FIVE
Steve. Steve? Dave!

TWENTY SIX
Such pleasant friendships.

TWENTY SEVEN
Filling burrito filling.

TWENTY EIGHT
Thank you, mom.

TWENTY NINE
Delightful, painful deliciousness.

THIRTY
And I’m done.
———
Word to the nerd.

MIKE MCGEE’S LAST MINUTE NAPOWRIMO 30/3/1 (30 POEMS/3 WORDS/1 DAY)

ONE
Food chews me.

TWO
I farted twice.

THREE
Heart trembles. Stay.

FOUR
We are easier.

FIVE
Goodbye, perfect match.

SIX
Not so lonely.

SEVEN
You choose me.

EIGHT
I fear mayonnaise.

NINE
Lipstick, my collar.

TEN
Bad handjob day?

ELEVEN
Ice cream alone.

TWELVE
Ogling your curves.

THIRTEEN
I owe many.

FOURTEEN
Mirror says, “Hi.”

FIFTEEN
Habit beats diet.

SIXTEEN
You farted thrice.

SEVENTEEN
Thumbless high four.

EIGHTEEN
Vulva beer stein.

NINETEEN
Nice guy code.

TWENTY
One more wish.

TWENTY ONE
Porque no ham?

TWENTY TWO
More fat giraffes.

TWENTY THREE
Imagine my death.

TWENTY FOUR
Smile for others.

TWENTY FIVE
Steve. Steve? Dave!

TWENTY SIX
Such pleasant friendships.

TWENTY SEVEN
Filling burrito filling.

TWENTY EIGHT
Thank you, mom.

TWENTY NINE
Delightful, painful deliciousness.

THIRTY
And I’m done.
———
Word to the nerd.

The crowds are always awesome, hovering somewhere between 22-33 people. I missed the Rachel McKibbens/Rob “Ratpack Slim” Sturma double-feature in November due to travel. While they were rocking my kitchen in Worcester, I was making two gallons of clam chowder at Anis Mojgani’s house in Portland, Oregon.

Anis ate one gallon.

I am writing about this today because I am stunned by how many people ask me about them around the country. I am impressed by who asks for a feature or just to read when they come through. Poets and poetry lovers alike are making it a stop when they pass through New England. The list of readers is impressive and it makes me so happy to have a viable alternative to a venue. There is so much more freedom running a KS.

Here’s the group page on Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/group.php?gid=241163070354

Join it and stay in touch. Especially if you want start your own…

McGEE’S KITCHEN SESSION FORMAT
What you’ll need:
*a space large enough for 30+ people
*a large table for food and drinks
*access to poets and writers
*a good emcee… (Should be the resident organizer, really)
*the express consent of all roommates
*space for features to crash, maybe even a neighbor’s couch nearby
*a donation collecting vessel

It’s very simple. Start an online group for your sessions. Facebook seemed like the best option since that’s where 98% of my acquaintances gather these days. LiveJournal is fading, Myspace is barely breathing and I still don’t get mailing lists…

I generally start a Kitchen Session between 8:00pm and 9:00pm, depending on whether it follows another local event. The night is split in half. The first half is for the “openers,” usually about an hour long, and the second half is for the “features” who get up to an hour to perform. Very extensive. I have people sign up for the opener by messaging me on Facebook privately. The first person to sign up goes last, second sign up goes second to last and so on. No favoriting. Openers can read up to two poems that must be debuts — NEVER BEFORE READ IN PUBLIC! That’s key to KS, I think; long features and new work. Mandatory. Also, I have never read any of my own work at KS. Never plan to, the emceeing is quite enough. It’s my time to roast anyone sitting too close. And believe me! In my house, everyone’s too close.

OTHER MANDATORY ELEMENTS
*positive attitude, leaving personal differences on the porch
*$3-5 for the feature, or buy a product from them
*a dish — homemade or bought — to be shared
*beverages to share, but no hard liquor
*energy to listen and have fun
*respect for the home, residents, neighborhood and the space

TWO KITCHEN SESSIONS THIS WEEK!
Thursday, March 25, 2010 – 8:30-ish
Kitchen Session #11
With Sonya Renee and Denise Jolly of Salt Lines
6 person opener. Sign up with me through Facebook message.

I will hold KS#12 either Friday or Saturday. Join the group and send me your vote.

I cannot decide if I want a day off after KS#11 or if I want KS-free weekend. Two in a row…? Friday off?

KS#12 will be ALL OPENERS. No feature. 16 person sign up, up to 3 poems each. All poems must be written in 2010… Brand new shit.

I already have about 7 people signed up.

Please consider holding your own home sessions. They are fantastic and pretty easy. I will help you! I will read when I am near!

While events like these have been happening for a very long time, I feel the world could use a helluva lot more of them. Let’s do this!

Living rooms! Bath rooms! Dorm rooms! Bed rooms! Garages! Bring the poets home!
———
Word to the nerd.

The crowds are always awesome, hovering somewhere between 22-33 people. I missed the Rachel McKibbens/Rob “Ratpack Slim” Sturma double-feature in November due to travel. While they were rocking my kitchen in Worcester, I was making two gallons of clam chowder at Anis Mojgani’s house in Portland, Oregon.

Anis ate one gallon.

I am writing about this today because I am stunned by how many people ask me about them around the country. I am impressed by who asks for a feature or just to read when they come through. Poets and poetry lovers alike are making it a stop when they pass through New England. The list of readers is impressive and it makes me so happy to have a viable alternative to a venue. There is so much more freedom running a KS.

Here’s the group page on Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/group.php?gid=241163070354

Join it and stay in touch. Especially if you want start your own…

McGEE’S KITCHEN SESSION FORMAT
What you’ll need:
*a space large enough for 30+ people
*a large table for food and drinks
*access to poets and writers
*a good emcee… (Should be the resident organizer, really)
*the express consent of all roommates
*space for features to crash, maybe even a neighbor’s couch nearby
*a donation collecting vessel

It’s very simple. Start an online group for your sessions. Facebook seemed like the best option since that’s where 98% of my acquaintances gather these days. LiveJournal is fading, Myspace is barely breathing and I still don’t get mailing lists…

I generally start a Kitchen Session between 8:00pm and 9:00pm, depending on whether it follows another local event. The night is split in half. The first half is for the “openers,” usually about an hour long, and the second half is for the “features” who get up to an hour to perform. Very extensive. I have people sign up for the opener by messaging me on Facebook privately. The first person to sign up goes last, second sign up goes second to last and so on. No favoriting. Openers can read up to two poems that must be debuts — NEVER BEFORE READ IN PUBLIC! That’s key to KS, I think; long features and new work. Mandatory. Also, I have never read any of my own work at KS. Never plan to, the emceeing is quite enough. It’s my time to roast anyone sitting too close. And believe me! In my house, everyone’s too close.

OTHER MANDATORY ELEMENTS
*positive attitude, leaving personal differences on the porch
*$3-5 for the feature, or buy a product from them
*a dish — homemade or bought — to be shared
*beverages to share, but no hard liquor
*energy to listen and have fun
*respect for the home, residents, neighborhood and the space

TWO KITCHEN SESSIONS THIS WEEK!
Thursday, March 25, 2010 – 8:30-ish
Kitchen Session #11
With Sonya Renee and Denise Jolly of Salt Lines
6 person opener. Sign up with me through Facebook message.

I will hold KS#12 either Friday or Saturday. Join the group and send me your vote.

I cannot decide if I want a day off after KS#11 or if I want KS-free weekend. Two in a row…? Friday off?

KS#12 will be ALL OPENERS. No feature. 16 person sign up, up to 3 poems each. All poems must be written in 2010… Brand new shit.

I already have about 7 people signed up.

Please consider holding your own home sessions. They are fantastic and pretty easy. I will help you! I will read when I am near!

While events like these have been happening for a very long time, I feel the world could use a helluva lot more of them. Let’s do this!

Living rooms! Bath rooms! Dorm rooms! Bed rooms! Garages! Bring the poets home!
———
Word to the nerd.

Originally published at Mike McGee Town. You can comment here or there.

Derrick Brown and I will be having a sweet, intimate “End of The Road Show” in Bellingham, WA tomorrow night. There will be special guests, Stuh-RANGE ROAD stories, Q&A, and special performances of rare pieces by Brown & McGee.

7:30pm.

The Amadeus Project: 1209 Cornwall Avenue
Bellingham, Washington 98225
360+815+1825

Derrick Brown and I will be having a sweet, intimate “End of The Road Show” in Bellingham, WA tomorrow night. There will be special guests, Stuh-RANGE ROAD stories, Q&A, and special performances of rare pieces by Brown & McGee.

7:30pm.

The Amadeus Project: 1209 Cornwall Avenue
Bellingham, Washington 98225
360+815+1825

Originally published at Mike McGee Town. You can comment here or there.

However, my favorite of my own parodies is my take on Shane Koyczan’s "Beethoven" (tip-o-the-hat to Ms. Spelt.) My version is called "Boyardee" and I feel as though it is the most dead-on parody I’ve ever written. I love parodies, and I find that they tend to get my creative electricities all charged up. They’re also good practice for trying to understand what and why a poet/writer does what they do with words.

I’d love it if poets would submit one spoken word poem to me for parody. Submit your original work, by MP3 AND text. My parodies are much better when I can hear the tone the poet uses with each line.

Send them to ilikemike at my Gmail address. Post a comment here to say you’ve sent something so I can keep a record of who is interested in this.

I will write the parodies and make every attempt to record them and post them here on my LiveJournal.

Below you will find a poem of mine to parody as you wish. If you can record it, I’d love to share the text and audio here.

You will also find the texts of the Koyczan and Mojgani parodies I’ve written.

Let the mockery begin!
–––––––––
Word to the nerd.

–––––––––

SOUL FOOD: A DUEL WITH DEATH AT LUNCHTIME
© 2001 Mike McGee

So last week the Angel of Death comes knocking at my door
Totally interrupting Perfect Strangers
And I’m like, “Dude, you are so early! There is so much more I wanted to do with my life!”

“You’ve had plenty of time for that!”

“You know, you sound a bit like Sean Connery.”

“No, he sounds a bit like me.”

"Whatever, dude. There’s gotta be some sort of loop-hole. What if we competed for my soul? Like some sort of contest."

“I love a good challenge. If we can both agree on one, then the winner may keep your soul.”

At this point I remembered I had a pot a ramen noodles waiting for me on the stove. The Angel of Death was lured into my kitchen by the sweet aromatic joy of powdered shrimp flavoring. I could see that Death was hungry, so I made a second pack of Ramen. We sat and ate in silence, but my hunger just wouldn’t subside. So while I raided the fridge, I noticed Death scoping my Rice Krispy Treats.

“Still hungry, dude?”

“We’ll take one for the road.” he said.

And we both put a Rice Krispy treat in our pockets.

“Actually, I could probably eat half of all your food.”

“So could I, dude, so could I.”

And it hit us both at the same time. We pulled out every bit of food in my house and divided it all into equal halves. We had one rule: First person to finish eating their half of food keeps my soul.

We sat down on the kitchen floor surrounded by an odd buffet. The world’s greatest food challenge began. But this was no ordinary match.

I took an early lead as Death fumbled opening a can of refried beans. I plowed through a dozen eggs and half a gallon of milk. I strategically swallowed spoonful after spoonful of leftover lasagna, without chewing. Death caught up to me with a tub of butter and half a soggy pumpkin pie. I hustled my way through cans of corn, green beans, kidney beans, chili, chicken soup, fruit cocktail, and a few cans of peas, but I was stopped dead in my tracks by a mystery can. It’s label missing and nowhere to be found. Damn, dog food! No time to think, I had to eat it.

Death was now ahead of me by two-cans of beer, a frozen steak and what we think may have been tamales. I burped to make room and continued on in the feast for my soul. I ate broccoli, cauliflower, cucumbers, oranges, bananas, a container of baking powder, two cups of salt & pepper, a jug of Pepto-Bismol and a can of whipped cream. We reached our last item of food. One. Raw. Potato. Each. We slowly gnawed our way through the raw potatoes, swallowing our last bites at the exact same time. It appeared as though we had a draw. Then Death looked to me with a sly grin and handed me a Tupperware bowl with my half of uneaten Jello. I grabbed a straw and sucked it down, saying:

“There’s always room for Jello, bitch!”

But Death just smiled and said, “I believe I finished my half before you. Your soul is mine.”

But I just outsmiled him and said, “What’s that in your pocket, hooker?”

His face sunk as he reached into his pocket and pulled out the last Rice Krispy Treat.

He looked to me with fear as I handed him my wrapper, and swallowed a mouthful of crispy, marshmallow goodness. “I believe I win, fucker.”

With that, the Angel of Death bowed and vanished.

I sat down to an episode of Full House and ordered a pizza…
cuz there’s never anything to eat at my house.

–––––––––

BOYARDEE
(to Shane Koyczan’s ”Beethoven”)
© 2001 Mike McGee

Taste it
His father made a habit out of frying them
See
Some men bake
Some men broil
Some men sautee their food
This man did it all
because I guess all men want their boys to be chefs

Boyardee

Little boy living in a house where the size of your hat meant nothing
Living in a house where groceries had to be earned
through each tasty morsel
served from the kitchen to tantalize the teeth of angels
whose hunger couldn’t be filled by anyone
other than this young boy
who had destroyed his tastebuds

Boyardee

Who tasted his fathers cooking every time he put tongue to taco
It was
not HOT enough
so he cooked hotter
not SOON enough
so he cooked faster
Not CULTURED enough
so he brought in a Hibachi

Not GOOD enough
and when he could taste no more
when his throat swelled up from the odd concoction of spices
it was
NOT GOOD ENOUGH

Boyardee

A culinary master
without his most precious tool
His tongue could no longer taste the meals he made in his mind
He couldn’t hear the people eating
He couldn’t hear them pigging out
He couldn’t hear the waiters tell the women in the restaurant that the chefs name was
Boyardee
As they let the mouthfuls invade their stomachs
like a snail sliding through
slinging meatballs
paralyzing every nerve in their bodies
like explosions of mustard gas
Each bite leaving drip marks over every inch of their chest
Making them hungry for one more
HELPING

He was an addiction
and kings/queens
it didn’t matter
The man got down on his knees for lasagna
but people amputated their legs
just to be closer to the food he dropped on the
FLOOR

The man got down on his knees for MATZO

And when the culinary academy made his recipes
it was the bile of his fathers tacos
bur-burping-burp-burping itself up into his throat

It was
not HOT enough
so he cooked hotter
not SOON enough
so he cooked faster
not CULTURED enough
so he brought in a frenchman

NOT GOOD ENOUGH
so they tried to mock the chef
make fun of his meals
by mimicking his movements
holding their ladels
a quarter of an inch above the pot
not stirring the soup
It was
burning

See
The chefs have this intimacy with food
it’s there in their dreams
and the culinary students turned to one another
not knowing what to do about the soup
trying to calculate the distance between
them and the firehose
Realizing that Boyarees ingredient measurements
could take you to dining rooms far past
the tables of Burger King
Turning golden arches into symbols, crashing togethercausing people to cry
creating a mob so large
they shook the restaurant until the lights began to fall fromt he ceiling
and it looked like the entire world had come to eat

TV dinners must be an illusion
The man must be a genius

Boyardee

His knife chopping at the speed of a food processor
Transforming beef into meatloaf

(My bologna has a first name, it’s O-S-C-A-R)

And after 45 minutes at 375 degrees
it was like canned food was a marketable thing
Like you could sell it
like for the first time
we could eat ravioli and tortellini
off the same plate of such fine china
that we finally understood
the packaging wasn’t important
to know the man and his food
all we ever had to do was
Taste it

–––––––––

BUST THE DUST
© 2007 Mike McGee
(to Anis Mojgani’s "Shake The Dust")

this is for the flatulent girls
this is for the little bubblers
this is for the schoolyard whiffs and for the childhood booties that
tormented them
for the formidable prom queef and for the intolerant milk drinkers
for the nighttime dutch oveners
and for the retired elderly "I farted in the elevator" door greeters
fart the dust

this is for the benches and the people sharting upon them
for the bus drivers inhaling a million broken winds
for the men who have to hold in three pops simply to hold onto their women
for the night pooers
and for the midnight butt lighters trying to flame
fart the dust

for the two year olds who cannot be understood
because they fart half liquid
and half not
fart the dust
for the boys with the booty–full sisters
fart the dust
for the girls with the brothers who are blowing lazy
for those gym class rope climbers
for the 12 year olds afraid of making public sours
for the kid who’s always late to class cuz he forgets beans loosen his pucker
for the girl who loves somebody else’s brand
fart the dust
this
is for the bloated men who want to fart but know that it won’t come
for the ones who aren’t fartin’
the ones you have to stand up for
for the ones who are told to squeak only when you are solo and then
are never solo
squeak every time you stand
so you do not shart yourself
do not let a moment go by that doesn’t remind you that your butt
farts 900 times a day
and that there is enough gas to make you a truck stop
do not settle for letting these fumes settle and for the dust to collect
in your jeans

this is for the silent-vowed monk who keeps on struggling
for the potty trainers and for the people who go on vacations to fart

for the sweat that collects between mick jagger’s stinging cheeks
and for the flapping skirt on tina turner’s flapping apple
for the heavens and for the hells through which tina has put her husband

this is for the dry ones and for the creamers

for the families that will never be true believers
in perfectly silent keesters
with butts not smelly with fever
this is for the spigots
for the flexists
and for the spillers
for the big, loud fart contestants becoming winners
and for the cloud trail
that always seems to show up right after the sprinters

this is for you

make sure that by the time the smell returns
you are gone again
cuz thanks to indigestion
i burn at both ends
and every time i eat
every time i open my mouth
i am creating a fart from myself to give to you
so
fart the dust
and shake my hand when you do
for none of this has ever been for me
all that hushes and lulls
hushes for you
so grab this world by its buttcheeks
and fart it out again
and again
and hop on top
and take it for a spin
and when you stop to cough
fart it again
for this is yours

make my gas worth it

make this not just another wind that i push out

not
just another wind like
just another fart that sits heavy in my bowels
walk into it
breath
it in!
let it creep through the hallways of your colon
like the millions of years of millions of farts
coursing like poop
pumping and pushing
making you cringe
farting the dust
so when a fart knocks at your butt
clutch your pants tightly
and pull them on down
running forward into the world’s unsuspecting faces
with your ass before you
buttcheeks
trembling
though they may be