any guests to
go to and no one
behind me at the phones
cant give a
hot dog away
in times square at
rush hour on the day
after the last day of lent.
at the age of two i was, for some reason, given a crayon. within two weeks i had learned the alphabet.
in two more weeks i was eager to tackle my first novel. unfortunately i was very poor, and could not afford paper until 1995, some twenty three years later.
in those years i was restricted to drawing and writing on my clothes, around electrical sockets, and upon sugar packets. i held on to that first crayon until i was fifteen, and finally able to beat up little kids for chalk.
i built my first guitar, a one string self electrocuting menacing placenta of ill thought technology that never had a chance of being near tune, out of a stradivarius i borrowed from a museum and bits of old smoke alarms.
more will be revealed as it becomes apparent…
© Robert Emmett McWhorter