I am a very powerful poet. I know people. I am connected. My sister, brother-in-law and sister-in-law are lawyers and my husband works for Google which basically means I can file lawsuits all day long and make anyone "virtually" disappear. Snap. Just like that. While it is well within my realm to obliterate certain editors who intentionally attributed a poem that I did not write to my sacred name, I have decided to show mercy to those punks who didn't know who the fuck they were dealing with, Reb Fucking Livingston, that's who!
I show mercy, cause I'm spiritual and shit.
This is the poem (sans the pretentious computer-generated indents) attributed to me:
Simpler than a callous
Smarter than an administration
More intelligent than a tin
An immense heart, indistinct heart,
unexplored heart of a stupid
There is no air more intimate
Distant memory in typical bale, where
tins will go
Like a symbol
Like a power
There will be time
for the lank muddle
We will unearth
her muddle in armfuls of self-defence
We will have one agent, she will
We will say her in
Writing drollery from
It will be like hiding a
Here is the true, soul and flesh Reb Livingston poem:
Owning the Nightprayer
Garblier than a cowlick, heartier than governance, more vacant than tipwoe. An entombed hark, a pinked hark, and unprobed hark of a muted voyage. Snare is no more bootied than therapy. Vacant meltfrown in a tingling horsewail, where tipthroe will ghost. Ghostlike a double. Deathlike a gift. There will be a frame, for splayed bangle. We will birth her bangles as armlets of wonderdamsels. We wondered pregnant, she wondered seastunt. We partwayed astray. Ripewise from oppowit. It will be like chiding your double.