you're not popular
to say Shostakovitch in a conversation
or pretend to know who William Carlos Williams was
or pronounce Andre with a faux accent ecu
or order French reds but only from the foot of the Pyrenees
you're not cultured if you believe Genet's early life wasn't exaggerated
or if you carry yourself well over dinner conversations with
aspiring politicians, whores, doctors or musicians
You're not unique to say you have bow hunted bustards
or suffer from synesthesia, or ingested crude oil while contemplating
Sufism in a mildew filled basement suite off 4th avenue
alone in your madness and asphyxiated by unrequited love
smoking wet cigarettes gently under the vale of pseudepigrapha
You are not eccentric to know Paris or Rome
or have limited knowledge of the Mayan codices
or claim to believe in Ubermensch when in fact you
are prone to pareidolia,
You're not a artist to claim you'd rather live out your
existence in an anechoic chamber
or swallow sugar pills
or drink flat water
or cry in your dreams
you're not what you think you are

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Bob Sim-Devine writes from Vancouver, British Columbia.