Scott Holstad


I just ssee\\ jumbled images
Pictures, numbers, thoughts,
All fl6ying at me at once
I can't control them - indeed,
They control me, I'm hypomanic
At this moment and I'm taking


With Risperdal in the background

Zoloft and Wellbutrin didn't work --
Made me more manic.

I wan't to finish the 13 books I have on
My plate, double the size of the depeartment
I manage, write a 100 new poesies, go to the
Fiesta Bowl to see my Tennessee team kick
Some ass, listen to some more Tear Garden
And Love Spirals Downwards, and I want this
I can't wait I can't go to sleep I havge to
Write write write write write write

What? It's doesn't matter. I want to go back
To LA County Jail to giuve some gifts to the
Big dude who took care of me -- biggest
Motherfucker in the place, in their for murder,
And I called and can't go until my trial has
Been completed for 30 days. Bastards. I just
Wanbt to bring him some sport mgas,
Cigarettes, candy bars, whatever, to say thaqnkks
Shitohle deputi4eds.

As you can tell, I read a lot of Peter Elbow
In grad school, cause this is total free form
Bullshit being cranked out
And the thing that's really disturbing is
Death is at evvery corner and those most
Importyant to me don't believe me
Think I'm a paranoid freak,
(which isn't entirely untruee, I'll admit),
but goddamn it, I want my Glock and
my cold Steel blades. All gone.
Plea bargain purposes. Fuckers.

Sonme time s I wiosh I copuld write
Like the literary bigwigs do, just for the
Glory, but most of the time I simply hate
Their dried up boring pap which they call
Poetry and so I'lll stick to my sthi --
Joe Parisi, at Poetry mag, said he likes
my stuff but doesb't know if it's really
poetry. Could be true. Don't give a shit.