Poem by CEE
Am I a pseudo-British, condescending asshole
Who could kick champion ass in World Fencing?
Do I strut and sneer and bite out my bitterness
“How USELESS!!, Sen — nor Seg — guin … !”
Do I, indeed, think my shit don’t stink?
Am I a pale, should-have-played-for-Marilyn-Manson, pseudo-Goth
Who’s swallowed up by ’ee’s mini-Mad Hatter hat?
Do I mumble and murmur and give the impression
That I not only don’t think my shit don’t stink,
I don’t even think I could get it up?
I think I’m neither
I think I’m a man you never knew, nor ever, ever will
Who never saw the bullet coming
Even though I’d seen it clear, there, in the air
Hovering, for thirteen days
CEE is a failed short story writer, failed novelist, and failed playwright. In the early 2000s, he developed Carpal Tunnel Syndrome, forcing him, by 2007, to fall back to the shorthand of poetry. Over 1,000 of his poems have since seen or will see some form of media. He has been printed in such diverse publications as bear creek haiku, Jerry Jazz Musician, Children, Churches and Daddies, Tales of the Talisman, The Storyteller, Barbaric Yawp, The Iconoclast, Poiesis Review, and Dreams and Nightmares. His poem, “It’s An Old Story,” received a Pushcart Prize nomination in 2009. He is the author of 17 chapbooks, including 12 times 12 equals Gross, Und ihr Habt Doch Gesiegt (You Have Finally Won), I Am Not Sydney Carton, tomB Baby (with Hot Robert Toddy), and Gunther.
Third Place Winner of the 2014 Luminaire Award for Best Poetry