There was an asshole from El Paso
doing business in middle Italy.
Write a poem for me.
Make a poem for me.
There was an asshole from El Paso
doing business in middle Italy.
Brass hasps, or something.
No: fasteners.
Write a poem for me. Say a poem for me.
I've been lonely in Ancona,
bitter winds, winter, Adriatic sea.
Write a poem for me.
Drunk, regretful in Grosseto, lost,
I made a bet with my host,
a worm of a man from Viterbo,
that I would die before he.
I let him win. He needed the money.
He had a family: make
a poem for me.
They converted me in Cattolica they
found my sicknesses in Fermo they
ground me up in Macereta they
learned my life they burned me in Urbino
& by the time I got to Ascoli Piceno,
banners: We Welcome the Urn Holding
the Bad Ashes of the Asshole from El
Paso.
Write a poem for me.
There was an asshole from El Paso,
business, middle Italy, ashes, Ascoli Piceno,
December 1983.
Gerald Fleming
Contents | Mudlark No.
3
| 28 | 30 |