So i went online to study the one that says it’s “the web’s most active poetry forum” or some shit like that.

I started reading a thread, which is poetry forum lingo for a poem followed by a bunch of comments from other poets. I scrolled down to the middle of the discussion.

“Don’t try me, bitch!” wrote one poet to another. “I can read you like a smut magazine.”

“You called me an ape,” came the response. “You don’t have to wear a swastika to be a Nazi, you know. You racist whore.”

“Don’t stress yourself about someone who has a shitty mouth,” another poet chimed in. “I can even smell her odorous being over the internet.”

“I’m late to this discussion,” yet another poet said. “But this poem strikes me as a crass attempt to malign a dead poet. It’s disgustingly narcissistic. You’ve always envied Babsy. You’ll never be half the poet that Babsy was. So what if Babsy showed her tits? So what if she liked to drink? Who gives a shit? Now get lost with your jealous, loser poetry.”

And then the author herself chimed in.

“I might be an asshole,” she said. “But you know what they say about assholes: Mine is better than yours.”

Upon seeing the author respond, other poets took the occasion to converse with her.

“The only asshole you know is mine, bitch. And last time you didn’t lick it clean. I want your piece of shit mouth over here again tonight. I just wet farted. I can’t wait to see whether you can make amends for your shoddy performance last time.”

“You cum sluts. Shut the fuck up and respond to the poem. I’m going to report this whole thread to @AdmiralB.”

“Hey @AdmiralB, be sure to notice that the bitch who reported this thread called someone a cum slut.”

“This is such a pathetic bunch of losers compared to what it used to be. I used to come here to learn from great writers. It was inspirational.”

“Boo hoo hoo. What happened to my site? You jackass. You couldn’t write your way out of a birthday card.”

It was at that point that I felt I had a good idea of what poetry forums were about.

I rolled a joint, took at walk, and tripped out at the trees.


Image CreditAlex Iby

Lance Watson's poetry operates at the intersection of space and time. Haha. Okay, that's bullshit. But what the fuck. Lance Watson writes poetry and other shit sometimes when he gets high, which is more often than probably most people should, but as I said, what the fuck. LOL. Have fun, folks. --Lance Watson

P.S. If you've never written about yourself in the third person, as though you were dead, you should try it sometime. Why? How the fuck would I know. It's fun.