I like this except for the title, which doesn't have much to do with the poem anyway (at least not as I read it.) I googled (and poetry anthologied) "endless angst" and "stingest" to see if it was a reference to something and only came up with cheesy teenage weblogs. And I'm confused about the lizards. But I agree with everyone who says the last three lines are amazing.

I thought everyone would get this. It's about wanting to be 'found' as a writer. And maybe it's all the Whitman I had to read last week, but now I'm thinking, screw 'em. When we're ready (and by we, I definitely include the present company of fellow fungi -) when we spring to the surface like mushrooms, fully formed, we're going to mop the earth with them. Just watch.

to INTRANSIT: No offense intended?

This is wack. Good, yeah. And pretty true. But wack subject matter. Sorry to sound so prudish. I really am. The sorry college-educated PC part of me wants to say you should badmouth white people a little too to even it out. Or if it's supposed to be ironic ('please mr. man') then make it more obvious. The rest of me says screw it, it's the internet. Let your free flag fly. Like I said, it's pretty true.

Wow--who are you? And do you know they'll never let you publish stuff like this? The internet's the only place you can find good rhymes now. They *gestures OUT THERE* think we're crazy.

To Baba:
Man! a Ginsberg fan! I wasn't even thinking of cock sandwiches, but I guess it works for a poem about a Ginsberg fan. Truthfully, I was going to call it a "pimple" just for fun, but the OED didn't have a definition.

Celibate. Otherwise it's all good.