Hey guys, let's find the worst state poet laureate.
My submission is Cyntia Huntington from New Hampshire, good luck finding a worse one
Excerpt from "meds":
3.
I must elude pain
float past clarity
pain in the brain
slammed down like a housefly.
It’s a big dodge.
Fly on a stovetop
sizzle and ash pop.
This is illusion,
mental confusion
born in the synapse.
What can be undone
down to the last gasp.
It’s a hodgepodge.
If you kill pain
you will become pain;
pain does not feel pain,
no nerves in the brain.
It’s a mind-fuck.
It’s just your bad luck.
>>7368108
bump for intrefast
this is really good. Can't you see the matrix analogies?
>>7368108
so America needs to find 50 new poets to honour every few years ?
of course most of them are gonna be shit
>>7368108
Some of the lines are good, she would have been better off without the couplets though.
>>7368108
What's the name of that movie again?
>>7368108
Nü-metal lyrics tier, holy kek.
>>7368543
Which ones?
>>7368108
Jesus Christ, if she can do it, so can I.
You think there's a money prize?
>>7370060
Are you a white middle to upper-middle class woman on a daily regimen of powerful psychoactive antidepressant drugs?
If no, check your privilege and fuck off, if yes, go for it.
>>7368218
no but i can see the marxist analogies
>>7370018
marquis/marquis de sade by topor & xhonneux
>>7368108
>It’s a big dodge.
FOR U
>>7370069
No but I'm brown.
>>7370069
Kinda. I life off of benefits, but I'm frugal so I have "a lot" of money and I take powerful psychoactive antidepressants. Or I would if my therapist wasn't such a pussy.
You think I could mail it in? I moved out of the country but I'm still american at heart. Should I write that at the bottom?
>>7370075
>tfw I read the Shakespearean banepost several times monthly, always with great fondness
>mfw Michael Earl Craig is a fedora and a weeaboo
>The night nurse puts a foot up on the radiator
>and braces her clipboard on her knee
>as she appears to take down a few notes.
>I imagine she is working on a sonnet,
>and that her ankle looks like polished walnut.
>You imagine she is working on a crossword,
>and that her feet are killing her.
>The slightest slit is like an old gate
>at a Japanese tea garden at night,
>in the rain, that is supposed to be closed,
>that is supposed to be locked.
>“Someone has locked up poorly,” you’d say.
>“Incorrectly.” But no one has asked you.
