On poetry:

If this
Is a poem
Then fuck you

Yup. Legit how I feel right now. Some of the shit masquerading as poetry is ridiculous. Apparently just saying that masturbation is meditation (in literally as many words) is groundbreaking and poetic genius.

It’s not. Yet such a ‘poem’ appears in a recent ‘bestselling’ poetry book. If that really is all you need to write to be considered a world-class poet, I can’t wait to see how my future project fares. Every piece will be, at the very least, unimaginably profound. Poems such as:

Cats
Is not dogs

and what can only be described as “an absolute triumph of bardmanship” (a word I made up because no word already exists that could to true justice to the following poem):

Snow
Is very cold rain

I’m not proclaiming myself to be the best poet or any kind of connoisseur. I don’t want to be a ‘gatekeeper’ who decides what is and isn’t ‘true’ poetry. But if making such a banal observation can earn critical acclaim, what’s the point of writing anything with meaning or emotion? Why bother fashioning verse that ebbs and flows and takes the reader on a journey, when instead you can feed them the nuggets of dried shit left clinging to your arse hairs.

//rant

Oh, by the way, ‘Dissection’ (my actual latest poetry collection) is released on Kindle on Jan 1st. Paperback will appear around the same time. It doesn’t feature the poems ‘Cats is not dogs’ or ‘Snow is very cold rain,’ but takes aim at the more general fuckup that is today’s society. Actual thought and effort went into the poems included, too, and won’t leave you picking metaphorical ass hair from between your teeth. Preorder here to guarantee disappointment.