This poem is from a much briefer series
on the life of the man who invented dirigibles
whose name is French, or Hungarian
I think. Dietrich Katona?

Please capitalize all the second and eighth letters
in this section. Note that
I am using a special font here – Strontium Victorian –
and you must make certain to keep the size at 7.2
and also capitalize all the names of fish,
except if freshwater.

You might be specially interested
in the following 1,368 rondelles
of which I am including a generous selection

The sequence on the invention of dice has been suppressed pending an investigation.

***

All the place names in the Confession Poems should be deleted,
to be replaced with Xs and long dashes.

Please fact check my biography.

Wyoming is spelled “Wyoming”.

“Hypo-allergenic” has a dash.

You might be intrigued to note that I am the winner of the following international poetry competitions and prizes:

1. THE WALDO VINCENT MEMORIAL HAIKU CONTEST;
2. MS. EUNICE HALIBURTON CHAPBOOK PRIZE FOR BEST FOURTH CHAPBOOK;
3. THE UNIVERSITY OF TANZANIAS INTERNATIONAL SONNET CONTEST;
4. UNESCO PRIZE FOR BEST VEGETABLE POEM;
5. JAKES AUTOBODY BIANNUAL FIRST BOOK AWARD;
6. DR. AND MRS. RADNOTIS ONE AND ONLY TOP POEM CHOICE;
7. DATGEISTS BEST, 1970.

The following poems have appeared
in NO POSSIBLE WAY; NEW AND FAIRLY RECENT LINES;
GODSQUAWK; ERGOMATIC; SUNSHINE STATE MARGINALIA;
CORPUS GUSSY; THE TROUBADOUR LIVES!; SKELETAL AFFLATUS;
BONGO CONGO MONGO; DELIRIUM TREMENDOUS; DATGEIST;
MR. FRIENDLY; MY NAME IS PETE AND I AM BI; ONLY TWICE;
LAST PETROL STATION FOR A HUNDRED MILES; ZOOMER.

(titles capitalized because I think it looks good).

You are welcome to choose any of the poems
but I would strongly suggest you choose the following:
i am not in favor of capital punishment; burning dolls, watering cans;
elegy for a dead amnesiac; seven ways of adjusting a corset;
the years following 1798, especially 1816, 1909 and 1972;
gadzooks! Why I Smoke Such Good Cigars and NO WOMEN CAN DO
THE DANCE LIKE A MAN ENTRANCED (please note the caps).

My name should be spelled in full, including all titles.
My photo is not included, but is available upon request
from the Department of Justice.

Thank you for your interest in my work, which
means a lot to me and my seven brothers,
who live near you, and are karate experts.
Dont be shy to tell me what you think.
Praise Jesus!

And thank you once again. This is the only anthology
I have been asked to submit to.
Submit is such a funny word, isnt it?

I hope the poems on the death of tubercular infants
do not offend you. My sisters had this disease
and it is based on actual experience “recollected
in solitude” but you know how it goes.
Okay, I may have made some of it up.
But the pus on the collar is actually true.
I saw that.

I think the name may be Dieter Kazner.
Ill get back to you on that.

By the way, did you have a chance to check my poetry
web site: www.allfatgirlsconstantly.com?
It is not a sex site, dont worry. He he.

I am very interested in the photographs of your wife
on you site. Is she really that size?

Thank you again and send me a reply in six to seven hours
so I can tell the people I live with all about it.
I hope I wont have to put my disappointment hat
on today.

Yours, cheers, all the best, thank you, felicitations, signing off for now, have a good week-end, and much appreciated,

Des Katboy
 
PS This is a nom de plume. My real name is different. It is Desmond Kattman Jr., but what do you think of Katboy? It makes me think of cats. It gets lots of “lovely ladies” interested at open mics.

All a man needs, all a man ever really gets,
is one chance: the one good clean shot
at the royal cunt between the eyes, the spot

that can take a mind off getting in your way
and make an opponent an afterthought
on the road to sweet acquisition, power

you don't even think of stopping. Minutes
from the border between Big Government
and The Get Away, the car handles well,

the box of shells jumping about like corn
popping on the bucket seat. Reaching over,
I feel my choice weapon, a Derringer.

I could go into details, but you're a faggot
and wouldnt appreciate the design's sincerity.
The history behind this piece of craftsmanship,

one of America's true glories, reads like a Who's
Who of what's extinct, from Buffalo to LA.
By the time you read this, I'll either be shit

for worms, or getting a BJ from a Mex skank,
fingering her pucker, sucking on a Corona,
fully enjoying my ill-gotten bank anti-deposit.

Escape has that nice divergence to it, pure
as poetry: you either do or you don't, are Major
or Minor, or a flower that bloomed unthanked,

odds I'll throw for any day. Risk is the trade,
where all the best deals are actually made. Consider,
I could still be a security guard right this instant,

jut as surely as you sit there and eyeball words,
like any armchair lifer who never plays big time.
Fuck information highways and virtual reality,

all that CNN-Time hype that lulls us to desks.
I am not virtual or informative to anyone
right now, here at this gateway where life is good.

I'm happening, honey, like a rape or flood,
with my own inner mythology. I rise and take on
the fluidity and force of a wild god, what goes

with me goes, and what remains is golden gravy
for the little guy who got gigantic with big plans.
Wild Turkey beads my lips like spunk juice,

Marlboro's cancer agents rush down my throat,
as I snake Virginia smoke from movie-star nostrils.
Catch me before I cool: a celebrity in the forming,

like something a satellite might see lights billions
from here, a nebula bursting like a crab from a shell:
Edward Huntly Dade's the name, to be exact. Never

forget, just because I grew up in a trailer, doesn't mean
I think ketchup is a food group; I'm smart, is all.
I can see them up ahead, the vehicles tight like wagons

circled against a Navaho wave, the daylight of their beams
red in the dust and sun, igniting the tips of their carbines.
I'm in range. Not much left to say or do, but just the same,

it gut-catches, the national anthem before the World Series.
I'm not alarmed. I've got three great things going for me,
each one my Daddy's bequest: alcohol, tobacco and firearms.