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Almost a decade after its creation, the experimental poetry movement Flarf—in which poets prowl the Internet using random word searches, e-mail the bizarre results to one another, then distill the newly found phrases into poems that are often as disturbing as they are hilarious—is showing signs of having cleared a spot among the ranks of legitimate art forms. Shell Fischer in Poets and Writers

Cool reviews
are seldom gratifying;
ask Caesar. If he were here
to answer he would say
they will bury you.

Imitation
is not always the greatest
flattery.  Sometimes it’s plagiarism.
Is there any word that’s not been used
before?

Even infants’
ads are strained.  Seams are fraying.
It’s more than recycled paper
though I’m all for saving trees.
We need an eco system

 for the infrastructure
of literature; less politics
and more philanthropy
(not to be confused
with philandering.)

The pen
is a mighty sword.  Sometimes
the mind is a mighty wasteland.
Flarf if you must, but please
be discreet.

This is not really a Flarf, but a modified Flarf. It seems every form can be corrupted, even Flarf.  I simply gathered phrases that struck my fancy and spilled them onto the page in what I dub a Flubbed Flarf.

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