poems at the press gang

i am tempted to fake nonchalance here; however, i will not. truth is, the sun is out heartbreak is settling and the wind has swept the flies from our patio. the lovely press gangsters have published two of my poems. i want to keep writing, despite letters from stanford and the academy of american poets to cease and desist and please send your shit elsewhere. just send us your money, friend and keep smiling. if i were terrance and philip, i would shout "I AM NOT YOUR FRIEND, GUY!" from an adrift raft but i am not so will not. i am here in oakland abstaining from lament and feeling the need for a pedicure and a job offer.