Poet Laureate of the Absurd, 2023

I woke up from an unusual dream where I was a coyote prancing in a barren field and discovered
I have been named, after much debate, The Poet Laureate of the Absurd, 2023. There will be no
official ceremony for the award. Instead, a family of blue birds will fly by my window on Easter
morning and sing me archaic religious hymns. I’m truly honored. Also, instead of a trophy or
plaque, I will be made into a statue, and said statue will be mailed to Paris, France, where it will
be displayed at the foot of Guillaume Apollinaire’s grave. Nice touch, I know. Lastly, instead of
any kind of prize money, which might’ve come in handy to a poet, I have been asked to donate,
after death, my lungs and eye sockets to the Scuba Diver’s Union of the Pacific in effort to study
how a person can hold on to hope and breath, while reading hundreds of books of poetry in
isolation over the years.