written January 11, 1997 in the periodicals room of the
Library when I was reading on reserve readings for
Liberation Theology.  Halfway through one reading I stopped
to write this poem in the spirit of the Poetry Slam (having
never been to one) that would happen at 7pm that night.

(needs editing)

This Poem Shall Fail
I am here, reading, yelling, nervously swaying
It's all unintentional
I'm not meant to be here
You see, well, I'm not a poet
This poem shall fail

It was not meant to be written
In fact that it was written still I question its existence
to say nothing of my own
There is this quirky/muddled [FIRE! Cheese. Blue. Earth
First!] part that doesn't make sense.
This poem shall fail.

The purpose for which the poem was not written.
the purpose for which I'm not reading a poem in front of you
people.
Will Die, in a crack in the ceiling by the lumniscient
fluorescant light.
No one will care or notice.
Because I didn't tell you about it.
By the way, the purpose never existed.
This poem shall fail.

It may reach lofty heights
Cause a thought to be thought
Love to breakout
a bomb to go off in the Pentagon
But not if I read it!
This Poem shall fail.

don't tell anyone, but it was plagiarized
but not even in the proper academic style of plagiarism
I didn't copy it right.
I mean the ideas and words might be there, but not the
"poem" part.
I don't "write" poetry.
this poem shall fail

the worst part is its abrupt ending:
this poem has failed
[hold-up a sign that says negative ten or negative infinity
a self grade]