MAN OH MANIFESTO

Who the fuck you looking at? I,
sir, am a poet! The second oldest profession,
more mysterious than the Masons, more
powerful than small armies or
large nations, I am magic,
I am speaking in tongues, I am the
anti-Houdini: stripped naked I can
create a prison out of thin air.

Every man wants my words, every
woman wants my child, every child
dreams of the day she can
throw balls of flame at an
unsuspecting room and
raise the dead.

I don't need food or water or money, I
don't need recognition or adulation, I'm the
cockroach who will write all the
beautiful eulogies that no one will be
left to hear, I don't need marble or canvas or
board, I'm a conjurer, Jack, I'm God if
God crumpled the newly made
earth every day and tried to make a
better one.

Oh, be afraid, because I can't be bought, that
transaction doesn't exist, I am the most
necessary of men yet no one wants what I offer, so
that makes me the nightmare enemy; the
ragtag skeleton, house blasted to gravel,
nothing left to lose and no dreams to
lug about, just a belly filled with bitterness and
words words words words words, and
who the fuck you looking at?

Dave Morrison is like a carpenter missing fingers – do you worry about his ability or applaud his devotion? A high school graduate and above-average guitar player, Dave has published two books of poetry and two novels.