Confessional Poetry is Like Pooping into Your Own Mouth 

It must have been one of those banana farms 
on wheels you hear so much about

on the internet these days. Or the giant penis 
outlined in the skies above Auckland.

Or…

Or…

Well never mind. 

It's yesterday's obsession; today, he's a cat 

and just can't help himself. 

More importantly, 

is there something I am not letting Jesus

do in my heart? This glass of milk,

for instance, is a lot like you.

It’s a proven fact: if you've got a bottle of chocolate syrup
and a few other items, you, too,

can become a worldwide sensation. 

A farmer admitted doing it,

but claims it was largely an accident

& he doesn’t want to be identified.

Accident? 

A second piglet was born 

with a penis on its forehead! 

Paper, money, the side effect of street vendors,

pour a little into your hand. 

It's sticky.

But these rules must be followed

to the absolute last letter.

And I've only seen smokers on TV.

Before you start, however, make sure you’ve met

the minimum requirements 
of the art and, remember,
the Judas tagging system is legal. 

You won’t regret it. 

Well, you might.

But only if you become a tall isolated object
walking across an empty plain.
Or a red fish.
By the way, is your name Max?

Don’t flatter yourself, grasshopper. 

Not all feet are seductive.

Sure, sometimes it's fun to open your wallet 

just a little wider than your mouth.

Is it a call to your third-century manhood?

Is it all in vain?

As for me, I hope I can find a way to return

this napkin,
this holy grail.