Spite Poetry

Two days ago, I wrote a piece called “Angry Yelp Review Therapy.” (check it out here if you missed it: https://notesfromanarcissist.wordpress.com/2014/10/04/angry-yelp-review-therapy-other-bay-area-dumb-dumb-decisions/) I was fairly pleased with myself and as a self-identified poet, decided to share it amongst several Facebook poetry groups I recently joined, just to see what the online scene looked like. The next morning, I received a message from a moderator. In the text of the piece there is a link, which I placed in as part of a gag, but because of facebook’s weird “I don’t know how to distinguish art from spam” formulas, it populated an image to the actual site I referenced in the condensed preview on the page feed. The moderator had seen this, and without reading the piece told me to take the link down, saying that what I had written “wasn’t poetry.”

Three things

1. Poetry is one of those great “indefinables” and most things, if someone says so, is poetry. You know, like art…
2. Prose poetry is a real thing
2. Why can’t links be in poetry in an age where the Internet has become so fully integrated into our lives? I’m going to prove you wrong

I wrote the moderator a message in reply.


You sent me a message regarding my poem, “Angry Yelp Review Therapy.” Your request to take the link down has been completed, although I have decided to remove the piece in its entirety to preserve its integrity. This is a prose poem. It plays with the form of the Yelp review, which is slowly entering into the American consciousness as a form of consumer expression. The piece imposes the objective rules and structure of psychology over the subjective rules and structure of an Internet forum community. A book of poetry was recently released which features doctored “found” Wikipedia articles. This isn’t something new, but the piece could therefore also be interpreted as experimental poetry. I know it doesn’t look like a poem because it doesn’t rhyme, there are a lot of words, and I know for some people reading is tough. It’s easy to just look at the condensed feed on Facebook and make an ill informed, quick judgement about something flying at you on the Internet. If only there were a piece of poetry which would explore that part of our culture…

Fuck you.

Then, to prove a point, I wrote this poem which is told IN ONLY INTERNET LINKS


They were quickly taken down, and I was removed from the group.

But for your consideration, here is my spite poem composed entirely of Internet links. It is about a woman who’s life is unravelling, told through her Internet search history. The original concept came from a derivative of a character my girlfriend came up with alongside San Francisco comedienne Molly Sanchez called “Spacemom.”

Laura’s Life in Links







Google/ how to see App Store recent downloads

Google/ what is tinder?

Google/ who is Ashley Madison?

Google/ delivery box wine




Yahoo answers/ will anal save marriage?





Google/ intimacy


Google/ creating intimate moments






Ask.com/ is masturbating cheating

Yahoo Answers/ is masturbating cheating

Google/ is masturbating cheating


Google/ couples retreats



5 thoughts on “Spite Poetry

  1. Masterful and innovative! But I foolishly believe all words form poems and even nonsense has depth of meaning. Why does your link history poem have so much to say about divorce and dreaming? The answer, I’ll bet, is deeply significant.

  2. Hook-Billed Albatross

    She stakes her dreams to the field’s love-shielding
    grass at the end of her perforated rainbow. He takes his
    turn ensured that she loves him by her food shopping,
    house cleaning, love making. The hawk’s nest resists
    the wind, remains aloft, agape for eggs and hatchlings,
    fertile reminders that measuring time, even if only once per
    season, does not slow it down; that migrating King Mackerel
    offer themselves in massive schools to even amateur anglers,
    as buffaloes had before sported to death. Six-toed cats and trans-
    continental reunions emit their cosmic hum. Games and big news
    keep connections alive. New friends meet old in a town you
    haven’t lived in for twenty-eight years. Opposite colors, orange
    blue collide, retract, expand over oysters, not slimy to hide pearls,
    but slippery to replicate the activities they supposedly support.
    Then a bull gator walks out of Lake Alice, scares drunk frat boys
    and walks back in without incident. Our corresponding spouses
    see the joy, join in the stories, though they are older. Beer
    loosens the social bra straps, allowing a free flow of ideas to
    sprout forth. Ibis flock issues screams from Payne’s Prairie, let’s
    face it, this prairie is a swamp, Audubon’s swamp, thus stinky.

  3. i only read this because it was posted on my birthday last year and i am terribly self-important.
    of course it was great and exceeded my expectations.
    much like myself.
    as i said, i am terribly self-important.

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