Ezra Pound Never Had It So Good

J. Carlos V. I was truly moved by your latest verse. That's what I get for packing day-old tuna salad for lunch.

Actually, I did think that I noticed some strains of Gabriel Garcia Marquez in the last line. The influence is staggering when you consider that he too seems to go on and on without end and then suddenly, there it is in big italic blockquote letters, "the end". The irony is positively heartbreaking.

In addition to the masterful GGM, as he his known to his "homies", your work recalls none other than our old, dear friend Max Speebek. Among his many talents, he has released several volumes of poetry, which in turn several publishers re-released into their dustbins. Nonetheless, he has had an influence on all sorts of people, most of whom are no longer infected. Here's the poem I think about first when I hear his name, or when I take out the garbage.

Eel Soup or Puddings

by M. Speebek (missing)

I am done and will be out when the air has cleared.
I will put the seat back
Down, dear.

Eels are tasty when prepared with the proper sense of
Nixon died in pudding and Pat kept
the eels in the cupboard. The pudding
went stale, but what do you
expect
With the 37th President of the United
States floating around in it?

NASCAR drivers, circling like
logo-festooned vultures round the asphalt
carcass

Quisinart,
quisinart,
quisinart rhymes with fart
And who would fardles bear, and what
are fardles anyway and why was
Shakespeare so keen on them, the pantywaist?
"Bodkins?" What is he
Smoking?

Give me an M
Give me an A
Give me an X
Give me an interesting disease, I'm free for the weekend.

"Fardles!" He makes me laugh!
The pudding snorts through my nose.

As you can see, the man is completely mad. Still, that poem was read aloud at the inauguration of the first President of Lower Spanglish. Good thing the native tongue down there is Urdu and no one understood a word.