Goddam, Man-child
A fight manifesto against Arthur Dewson
Left me now drinking in sorrow
reading your poetry, looking at your photos. Believe me Nome., and fear not, for it is not your place that I wish to take.
Drinking, Korean pale ale to drawn the idea that Arthur the Dew-son
man-child, fe-male, has above me risen in quill-art
in digital poems, words of love, work of a poet.
Damn you, son of the dew! Damn you and the well
that crushing onto your streams of consciousness
liberated your thoughts in mist…and well, dew.
Arthur…Dewson, of Lana del Rey pen-cousin
I despite thee, for thou is far more elegant
and eloquent than I
Goddam, self-loathing poet, dew-son and she-soul
I despite thee, for I love those poems of thine,
above yes,
the love for those of mine.
As I read elysian-pink-meadows by Arthur for the fifth time, I came to the realisation that he was good. Like, I knew he was, but…I mean, very good.
Therefore, here, in Classic Times kinda Beef war, I send him this message of duel. He shall suffer, for his poems are, I reckon, super fucking good. And a good Tarantina does not accept a Poppito to be better than them.
