Saturday, June 9, 2012

To Walt Whitman

I look at my neighbor’s genitals
Have a drink
I love my neighbor
This poem is not on my schedule
I am stating it for the record
Bliss is not ignorance
The stars and stripes
We are now a corporation
Brick by brick the great wall
This poem is going somewhere
I don’t know where

If you like you can give me a prize
I accept don’t tread on me
Where is a policeman when I need one?
This poem is not a fictional person
I only live here
The water bowl is not mine
Do dirty secret wars give you pleasure?
Appeal to heaven
Write me a check I’ll call you

I am running out of sentences
I stop for food and drink
There is no standing here move along
This poem trudges along looking for a song
My utterance needs elbow room
We have plenty of rooms
One line at a time
In whatever order you wish
Dessert salad aperitif
I feel a fizzy sensation

One hour on a Saturday night
Clouds of copper
The sky rises like a turquoise sea
I am gold on the couch
The dog snores in his house
My neighbor
Something in the sunset for everyone
A swallow strays like a comma
I wrote this poem
I had rather it be you

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