The Folderist Manifesto

Although it might seem lazy and anachronistic to do so I do so. I have condescended and deemed it necessary. I have wheedled and cajoled, bullied and pleaded. I have come to no conclusions. The jury is still out, to return momentarily, hung. In the meantime I dangle, undecided, before my very nose, unwilling to back down.

I am jumping up and down inside my skin, full to bursting, as the toilets whizz by overhead.

I walk hand in hand with the jellyfilled donut of apprehension. Squeeze my hind-end.

I know the Pope toys with me, as does the Turk, the Hun, and the President. But they are on my side. None of this will stop me from taking refuge in the crates full of broken-off golf club heads.

God help you if you do not follow my demands. They are as follows. There are no demands. I wouldn’t dream of asking you to scratch your own ass if it itched.

I am as follows:

  1. Raise the slim metal pole to the microbe!
  2. Wash the raisins off the slimy piling!
  3. Probe the dinky and hop to it!
  4. I realize the necessity of clattering headlong flat-out down the stairs like a plank!
  5. I condemn the bathroom for its hidden lemony tang and jungle of white powders!
  6. Careful, the concrete planters are uprooting like sweet potatoes in a cyclone!
  7. Do all the bongos congregate at midnight to be burned on a pyre by a man in a large coat?
  8. Unbutton the flute and, tooting, push the walls down, chuckle at the rubble!
  9. Forget about the dark rubber valley where the bimbo leaps like gleaming U-joint!
  10. The policeman’s flashing patch solves an equation in my forehead which I renounce and feed to the rainforest of the andiron!
  11. Likewise I’m sure!

I have united against the exponential acre of concrete dust, against the fine how-do-you-do of Morgan Fairchild, against being against and

against being against being
a gaunt bean
a haunting bing from the crazy machine.

I am Bob Folder. ¡Se obedece pero no se cumple! Say, “Oh, but they say ‘pair of nose’; they come play.”

Leer knowingly at each other and nod toward an object separated from its context. Big smile. Thank you. Don’t mind if I do.

I am Bob Folder. Still. Quiet. Did you hear it? My pleasure.

Published by Curt

I am a poet and journalist and so on amber so forth in rows magnet.

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