Pride and Prejudice Has Recently Been Voted the Most Romantic Novel of All Time! (Flarf Sestina)

In which Miss
costs a fortune
and your love for your wife
assigns one or more class
by making bogus claims, yet agrees to settle
with actual examples of a completed proposal.

“I have a modest proposal
and this, fellow readers, is why Miss
is all the more reason to settle
near the mouth of fortune
and start the remedial class
of Man and Wife.”

“I am my own wife”:
An immodest proposal,
treated as a new class
that could also qualify you to compete for Miss
and find your fortune
before you attempt to settle.

Should we just settle?
The concept is a little archaic, but the modernized wife
can mean the difference between losing a fortune
or making a proposal
explored through one young woman's quest for the Miss
from a birthing class.

"It seems to primarily have to do with socio-economic class,
the meaning of “settle,”
but somehow I managed to miss
the crap out of my wife
a long time before any proposal
distributed my fortune."

The wheel of fortune
also belongs to a class,
which must submit a proposal
on Monday to settle.
Read a variety of content on how to be a good wife
and vote for Miss.

How to make a marriage proposal fortune:
See the profile for Miss Class
and make him settle for a wife.


I Dream of Tom Selleck

Since my fifth birthday
I have always wanted a mustache.
The way they twitch
when someone smiles
makes my upper lip cold
with envy. I all but gave up
Westerns and Marx Brothers movies because,
who needs an hour and a half
reminder of their own biological shortcomings?
I clipped hair from my younger brother
and then myself,
(enough for my mom
to stuff a bow on my head
at Christmas)
each time fashioning a more realistic
lip companion, yet,
when I wore it out,
people only saw desperation
on my face.


God Hunt Us All If We Do Not Hunt Moby Dick (Flarf Sestina)

Two areas on the Oregon Coast have been closed after a whale
offered luxurious modern amenities in a historic sea Captain's
tragic freak accident; when a schoolyard shade sail
entered the tenuous outer atmosphere of the sun,
entwining the exact moment of Anna's drowning at sea,
"That weed was the kill!"

A funny scene in which Tom tries to kill
a story floating around the net for years about a whale
off the California coast that was used for The Sound and the Sea's
production ofMusical Evenings with the Captain;
this was not positively reviewed by The Sun,
who said in their review, "I would rather go sailing."

A small, but dedicated group of ice yachting enthusiasts sail
around the arctic, "In a sense there's just one mistake that kills:
we will look at parts of the sun,
referred to as 'killer whales',
sit back and watch our Captain
march into the sea."

Oceans and law of the sea:
sometimes, in the heat of competition, the sail
is the first record of a fading Captain;
A new study shows that caffeine helps kill
Him/Her, but endangered migratory whales
are the surest way under the sun.

Some people long ago thought the sun
as a God, but since sea
ice has disappeared and the world banned commercial whaling,
many have discovered sailing
as a way to kill
our once beloved Captain.

Get ready for action, laughs and romance with your favorite Captain
under the sun,
"I'd rather kill
myself in the sea,"
says sailing
enthusiast Martin Whale.

Captain Don's Whale Watching Tours:
Sail the coast, enjoy a cocktail, look for whales and watch the sun
get a kill past the Sea Shepherd.


The Lumberjack

The lumberjacks slices steeples,
fells people's chimney's
on windy roof tops.
The cops show,
talk over traffic.
They panic, send a team
of dream interpreters up
to interrupt the lumberjack's
mad cackling, "Ask
my axe" he cries.
He lies through his teeth.
They see a man
who stands that fell.
Hearts swell and contract
in back and forth conversation.
Their patient laments
his actions, "In my dreams,
trees scream; machine guns,
children running, I can't
possibly stand, consuming air
when there, out in the forest,
I'm abhorrent."


The Legend of Arthur Rimbaud

Long ago, through the ancient sands of time,
it was prophesied that a boy, gifted in rhyme

and meter, would rise above his earthly age
and begin a new era, dispensing his sage

words to all that sought his wisdom.
It would be a different society, a new kingdom.

I. On the Day of October 20, 1854

Arthur was born in a manger
his father wasn't present and it couldn't get much stranger,
but I heard he was the savior.
The written word flowed through him
and he was dangerous
came to us
with the trust
in his bust
and the muscle to hustle apostle
of the written word.

"Have you heard he isn't human?
That wise men brought him nothing,
but rum and cumin?"

I'm not saying his hearing is supersonic,
that is body is nothing short
of anatomic,
that he didn’t lose, live, love, breathe,
and smoke the chronic,
but he did it all with such ease.
Is it ironic

that a baby,
confined inside of a womb,
would be predestined and would save me?
I was thinking that just maybe
the people he will save will shun him, misbehave, “he

should not
be appointed
to the throne”

“When he's through,
we’ll be here all alone”

“I hear you can make a magic powder from his bones”

Such thoughts are for the fools and for the weak.
-Hold up.
The child speaks,


“No, I’m just playin with you”

"Five seconds out of the womb
and I’m killin’ it.
Give me ten years and I,
I will rock your shit.

From the look up on your faces
I can tell my introduction,
was a little too abrasive.

Let me break it down for you,

I just got here,
but I’m on the level.
You all on edge,
I think your ledge is beveled.

Think it’s getting better,
pleasant weather,
and the feather
in your cap
is rhythm;
that same hymn
they’ve sung the last
five hundred years
or so.
It’s gotten old.
Contemporary culture has just got to break the mold.

does it take
a messiah to try
a form you’ve never heard?
No, all poets
can sow this
if they have got the sacred word,

but sometimes it takes
years just to break through
so you
got to
have some faith in your boy king.

I’m not saying it will work for you all:
the short, tall,
the big, small.
We just have to hold till they fall down.

And when they’re falling,
the fall,
is of their way of life,
which is no wonder it’s under
the threat
of my preverbal knife.

I think I’ve pandered enough
and slandered those in trouble.
My latin masters demand
I go to bed;
on the double."

(whispered by the prophet)
This is the prophet
come to have the last word.
I didn't drop it,
but I feel I must be heard.

I didn't make it on my own due feet.
I pled the muses, “use me
and I'll write your meet and greet.

But as the golden child sleeps
I hear my conscience, conscious,
and I don't deserve this wreath.



She stirs in sleep and
then she wakes.
She is not fit to stand.
Her thoughts matriculate.

On A Passing Bus

The hushed sound when she halted
sent a shiver through my chest.

Her face was smoothed,
polished by a digital brush.
Her lush lips, plush
cheeks blended into their
neighboring pixels,

shifting the caustic silt
of age. I whispered,
"she is unreal"
and she was whisked away.