In the month of March, which is a tough month because it is the end of winter and winter is bad, I discovered, in a file on my computer, 36 bad poems that I had written in 2017. I had no memory of writing these poems but I thought that they were good and I wanted to write more of them. I thought I would do 200, after Anthony Clark (who invented the 200 bad comics challenge a million years ago). To make it harder I said I would do them in two weeks. I almost did that but I did not thanks to a stressful trip that I took in the middle of this journey. Anyway, they have already been posted on this website, but here are all 200 poems I wrote in March together with the initial 36.
too sad to think I am too sad but I am writing poems poems don’t need thought
a poem about economic insecurity economic insecurity sucks there’s a moth always crushing your brain
tips for managing yr workload throw your task list into the garbage can no one will ever notice
a crisis for office managers dave said he couldn’t work Thursday but shirley booked Thursday off well, someone needs to be here
You thought you were rid of me. But I had a head start. It was only right to continue until I had written 200 in this year. Now it is truly done.
psyche I’d be betraying my friends and my poems by ending this with bad Christian allegory—and I’d also be short of 200 since the first thirty-six were written in 2017
2017 an interesting year which I remember now for a “couple things”
“a couple things” a relationship, finally ended a hundred emails another relationship (more emails would follow)
purgatory writing these has been a kind of trial and I’m not sure if it’s these poems or the weather but I feel better than when I started
climbing the mountain like I’m having the word for “sin” wiped off my forehead by the brush of an angel’s wings, each poem is helping somehow
the discovery when I found the first 36, just last month I was searching my hard-drive for a poem I wrote in 2013 about “having a bad attitude”
the poem about having a bad attitude was written after attending a craft workshop in a museum in the middle of the country attended by just me and two twelve year old girls
committed to my art she looks at me from the couch gets up, saunters over but I’m writing these poems
committed to my art 2 with determination I turn back to the screen she walks back to the couch and hugs the dog
an owl sends me a “flame email” it takes me three hours to download it’s a 3D model of a rat, partially digested in the centre is a message on a piece of paper: “fuck you”
a golden relationship Fawn says “from a distance your relationship seems ‘golden’”—which means, I think that it casts a certain reflection and has a particular atomic weight
the cafe is packed initially I can’t find a seat I squeeze in between a stroller and some guy watching “Rick and Morty” on his phone
Can you believe this idiot did it. I thought he would never finish. Indeed it seemed like he never would. But in any case here are the final 48 bad poems.
conference for more than a week I stopped making these it was too much, to do this and imagine myself flying just one hour away to deliver a fifteen minute talk to a seven-person audience
excuse in an email “I’m sorry, I thought that I could that I could see past it, but it turns out I can’t, this stupid talk keeps circling in my head”
anticipating things you’ve never done some get excited others anxious, imagining every possibility I stare, like a snake has captured me with hypnosis
modern academia I should have known it was no big deal when the conference kept sending me emails advertising discounted rooms for $200 a night
your final ultrasound in this appointment there are three possible outcomes: first, a healthy baby; second, a baby, maybe, not so healthy; third, you are carrying a tiny dinosaur in your womb
wand in the jelly okay here we have what looks like an arm… so far so good… that flesh looks pink and fat to me… oh… bad luck… this claw says you’ve got a Deinonychus
nature finds a way when you’re carrying a dinosaur you’re flown to a remote island compound where a man in a white lab coat sits you down in a makeshift nest and urges you to “complete”
literary readings oh how I love to see writers walk up and down to the microphone, up and down from the podium, where they read from a few pages and sit back down again
escaping standing in a large crowd paths form between the people milling and you are forced to wonder as you plot your maneuvers why it seems so intolerable to talk to any person
pause for thanks the next time I read I am going to pause after every paragraph and wait for such a long time that people think I am finished and begin speaking again and again through their applause
wine glasses are not for that when you are finished with your wine glass do not put it on the floor, do not step on it, do not squeeze it in your hands until the delicate glass shatters
more things you should not do with wine glasses do not take a bite out of your wine glass like it is a cake or a delicate pastry, do not grind the wine glass slowly into your palm, do not throw it suddenly against the wall
after every poet I am first to the bar table, where I get another glass: pointing first to the cab, then the superior shiraz, then I guess the pinot, then the shiraz again
I’m in Washington. For some reason this leads me to a documentary on John Diefenbaker.
A joke told in a rote rhetorical style:
Old Sir John said ‘You know, I’m one of those who believes in prayer. Excepting when the prayers are uttered by the rich. Because,’ he said, ‘if their prayers were answered not only would I be sick, but long since would I have joined my ancestors in another place altogether removed.‘
Wow, 50 more bad poems. Will this guy ever stop. Is he out of his mind.
the office the fidget spinner came apart in my hands and I explained what it was as it spun wobbly with only two balls
the office 2 as I screwed in the third bearing she asked me how does it work? —I had no idea “bernoulli’s principle” (I’m dumb)
that’s terrifying Zak messaged me after I sent him notes from a lecture Gordon Lish had given on July 14 2018 “I’m still terrified,” he wrote me, half an hour later
Shopper’s I saw my friend’s “friend” walking in front of Shopper’s they were lovers but not for a while now their eyes flashed in the rain
tri-corner hats yeah I ate three of those cookies as soon as she pulled the bag out I’m proud of it
shifting we’re moving books from one section of the library to another section of the library it’s like they’re taking a little trip
stuck in the tunnel the train stops completely someone’s sleeping with his hand covering his face I think he must be faking
late Carson was already hitting the ball when I arrived at the court and apologized he said “no, you released me”
co-ordination none of the photos I have seem good enough the water is either too shallow, or too deep no one’s going to believe I’m water polo MVP
quiet for a long time in the office I think I’m the only one who is going to be here the loneliest of all outcomes
quiet 2 shortly after my colleague arrives it starts, just a little bit, to rain I get up and look out the window
the side door most people buy their cars either through the front door (dealerships) or the back door (stealing) I wait in parking lots and say “please?”
showbiz if I ran a queer burlesque or was myself a performer and I’m not saying this is happening my show would be called “Daddy Augustine”
confessions when I’m holding the book in front of me I say what I like “I think I’m at least a deist now”
the side door 2 I love my new range rover with 4×4 and a v6 thanks Val in the parking lot who thought it was sweet to ask so politely
2006 if you want to go back in time just open Apple’s “iMusic” app and put on the Fiery Furnaces’s I’m Going Away
2009 Google says the above-mentioned Fiery Furnaces album didn’t come out until three years later regardless I maintain my initial point
Gordon Lish I tell Zak I think Lish will never die living long enough to bury us both. but I quickly retract it: he’s old as fuck and I want to live
thank you Val I drove over to Val’s house —she still had a trunk full of groceries— and pet her dog and wrestled her kids
Here are 25 more bad poems. Can you believe it? Over 100 bad poems. Some people would say that’s a lot of bad poems. Not me though. There will be 200 bad poems on this website by next Wednesday.
this poem is out of control it is not going to the office it is not going to grocery store it isn’t walking the dog
bumpers after three days of warm temperature and then rain, all of the snow is hard, and grey, and thick perfect for keeping your bowling ball out of the gutter
offer here’s the truth: my voice keeps rising, and I keep saying more and soon my head will lift from my shoulders
difficulty it’s hard to talk to me in the winter when every thought I deflect with a stick
angry Miriam told me she knows she needs to start writing when she follows her partner reading the news angry at everything she has seen
Liam is waiting in front of a Paris bakeshop and there are rows and rows of skeletons and they all want a pistachio danish
high snowbank the dog perches neatly on the huge snowbank somewhere high above an owl watches him poo
quiet I keep rubbing my face as if I’m trying to take it off I’m not sure what I’m trying to say
splash a car splashed me with water I shouted “fuck off” it sounded like a little bitch
wrong parallel park four sheets of drywall in the car I park behind the guy says c’mon you idiot move your car can’t you see this is a real construction zone
real construction zone two pickup trucks and a broken piano on the front porch every time I pass I think about how the man threatened to beat me up with his “guys”
his guys when he came back he was telling his guy the guy said “no worries, we can move them” I’m sure he’d have preferred otherwise
night walk the dog wants to go out I’ve been asleep for two hours in the morning she says he pooed three tiny sticks
murder mystery my character had three accents and someone killed me but not the right person
the accents are accidental! where’s my voice honestly literally any one
sex cards you’re supposed to trade them they signify that you “did it” but I only have two
waiting if you don’t know what to say sometimes you can just stand there and the conversation will leave you
worried I’m worried I don’t care about anything where’s my zest! I watch an episode of Russian Doll
first meeting when I first met the dog I thought oh god imagining it was too much to grant
frankly I didn’t want to know a dog come on it sounds like the beginning of a holiday movie
the truth it seemed exhausting all that enthusiasm! but the dog generates it himself
a literary solution there are two ways of solving your problems one involves getting your hands dirty the other, turning things around in your head
3D chess sometimes it feels like I’m playing 3D chess with God and God doesn’t care if he wins or loses
big magazines you have to “play the game” and “get off Twitter” and “read a single book”
go to dinner why didn’t you go to dinner with the big editor or kiss his hand when he put down the breadsticks
