There's a mazel tov that has not yet been announced on this blog (likely because the two most frequent posters to this blog are the ones due the mazel tov), so in posting this poem, assume that this post also is wishing a public mazel tov to our fearless EIC, the Washington Heights heavyweight lifter (weighing very little for his weight class), all the way from the Ukraine, and his lovely, lovely lady.
Also, I came across a poem about the soon to be
Coen'ified Michael Chabon in 3:AM Magazine that I couldn't help but love, and am posting and
linking to here for the titillation of all of ya'all.
Michael Chabon
By Justin Dobbs.
the bus only takes me where michael chabon wants to go
although no one knows the title to his latest poem
not even the bus driver
the coffee made me happy at first
but then i sat back and i said fuck
and tao lin writes to tell me that
michael chabon has put him on his shit-list
some people say that michael chabon is a gangster
or a hustler, a hoodlum
that he deals opium out of a suitcase
it is rumored that i am fucked
that i sleep under bridges
and get arrested by policemen
for shit-talking michael chabon
in the university elevator
sometimes i only go to the university bookstore
to find matthew simmons
and ask him if he, too, has been
blackballed by the gangster, michael chabon
but at these times he is very quiet
and carefully points out the window
where a homeless man lies on the sidewalk
and maybe he is dead
