Dung Gang Confidential
i. Donald Food’s Last Interview, April 14th 2011
Q:
A: Well, in poetry, unless you are
Steve Roggenbuck or Paul Legault
or whoever, or
on the other side of the spectrum, say,
I don’t know—Mary Oliver?
You can’t
assume
any kind of uh
um abstract universalized ludic audience as such.
So
the creation of imaginary audiences—
and modes of orienting yourself towards
them—is kind of a fun game you can do.
I do it a lot.
Q:
A: Something that would make them re-evaluate
reading practices. Something so slight and trivial
they sit back and go, oh, now
why was that even worth my time?
There’s a space for a uh
a uhhhh, excuse me,
heh, I mean
a space for a kind of poetic polemics.
Poeletics. Like I
said, it’s-
Q:
A: Fun for me I should say.
Which may say something
about how fun I am.
I spend a lot of time workshopping with beetles
by which I mean
ii. Dung Gang Confidential
When a Dung Gang Man is eating
candy with one hand while pissing
with the other his greatest anxiety
is that an M&M or two will brush
against the surface of his penis
through a crack in the knuckles
or consume, by accident, a pubic
hair.
A Dung Gang Man is sweet and true.
Glib equilibrium atop a sticky black
mass of sputum. Let’s tell it like it is:
an exact sphere of compact fecal matter
arriving like messianic time at just the point
when a lesser fellow would avert his gaze.
By way of secret handshake, reaching elbow-
deep into the disaster, flaring the nostrils,
retrieving from the innards against all odds
rare and charming Faberge eggs.
The fear of a Dung Gang Man is slipping
from the Dean’s List, smearing salt
on the old alma mater while under
hypnosis, the bro shivs the bride
on her steed and gear. Oh the dripping
bawn! In town, slipping. CC subtitle:
you’re so wet. But it would have made your heart
right sair. To see the bridgegroom rive his haire.
On your high horse. Such incest betwixt
insects and concepts you might think
you were watching HBO, but hey,
that’s Olympus I guess. Oh also: the supposed
glimpse of a black maria in the boardroom
until lights switched revealing only
fucked up ghost peddling
one weird blackmail tip
discovered by moms.
iii. Dung Gang After Dark
I spend a lot of time
workshopping with beetles by which
I mean
my body covered in beetles.
Locusts swarming with locust privilege.
I said, don’t stop. I said, I said,
don’t stop.
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