Jack Morgan thinks it's funny that people hate him. He says he doesn't know why. But I think he does.
He told me once in an email, "You know why I won the Stronach Award and you won the Haas Scholars Award? Because I am a poet and you are a scholar. I can fake being a good scholar--anyone can, but everyone can smell a phony poet from a mile away."
A lot of people ask me why Jack and I aren't friends anymore. How could you be friends with a guy like that? He says that that email was a compliment.
And now this MURDERCYCLE shit. It's a poem about him driving around killing the people who hate him. He calls us all trash because he's talking about EVERYONE! On his blog. There's an entry on it where he calls us all cowards. I swear to God, this guy is going to get murdered one of these days.
That author photo? That's worse than Joshua Clover's. Those tattoos aren't even real. Who's phony, ass hole?
Now there is a group on facebook started by someone who hates him. HE JOINED THE GROUP. He was the first one to join! Then he invited me and all the other people he knows hate him probably.
Dear Jack Morgan,
It is you who are a coward, writing stupid little poems about your enemies. How childish! You are a child. The Trainwreck Union died because of you. You thought that you could do everything alone, so we changed the passwords. We wanted to do Switchyard. You might have started it, but now it's ours, so just shut the fuck up. You might have solicited all the poems, but now they're ours, so shut the fuck up. If I were you, I would stop writing poetry and drop out of college. You are neither scholar nor gentleman nor poet nor human for that matter. Maybe you should have delegated some of your responsibility. Maybe then we would not have buried our knives so deeply in your ribs. I thought you were a Shakespeare-freak, haven't you read Julius Caesar?
No one cares that you named the Switchyard or that the Trainwreck Union was your idea, so stop talking about it. Stop writing. Stop talking about us.
The only reason anyone goes to your readings, the only reason you get published, is because for some reason, Sara Mumolo is your friend. No one knows what she sees in you. Stop riding her coattails and see how quickly you fall into obscurity. You are a shitty poet.
Yours,
C.
