ON A CERTAIN TYPE OF POETRY FOR
WITH A NERVOUS ITCH
I'm Tony the Leaf,
freaking out in the grass,
waiting for Mama and Papa Bear
to bring me some heroin--
Yes, I'm Tony the Leaf,
lying against the blue sky
in my dry loneliness and paralysis.
Fetch me a whore,
fetch me a star
amidst the dark blue ocean
of corrupt insurance salesmen.
I'm Tony the Leaf,
waiting for the next few thousand
to trample me with their feet.
I'm bizarre, I know,
and I speak very little French or Polish,
and I have little originality--
I'm a self-actualizing Leaf
and I'm sensitive enough not to say
fuck you to you all in the morning.
I follow the precision of clocks
with rigidity of robots
and I have millions of hang-ups that I
have actualized already.
Look at me! Now I kiss your ass--
it is deep dark purple.
I'm a snake in your cookie jar,
I'm a social parasite,
I'm much worse than an insurance
I do my social work of making you
all the same,
all unoriginal and sterile--
I want to actualize your indifference,
I want to sing my silly songs,
I want to break your bellies in two
and watch your contortions in the gutter.
I will speak to you of love,
I will speak to you of snow
and I will analyze your bloody handwriting.
Yes, I'm a lousy scribbler of pathetic poems,
which I will give you dime a dozen,
jumping through your chimney
like an intoxicated Santa Claus.
I will smooch you to death,
I will pour gasoline into your stove
and I will throw up in your living room
on your piss-yellow carpet.
I know nothing of Frank Zappa
and I don't masturbate,
I'm a fat womanizer
with false teeth and a briefcase
full of blues.
Look for me in your mailbox,
I deliver what you want to hear--
every lie on the pages of Sports Illustrated
and every calendar girl to get your rocks off.
I'm a menstrual cycle of the Moon
and I will bleed all over your motorcycle seat,
I'm a cure for your hemorrhoids
and a nightmare to your ear.
Like a slow-acting poison
I will enter the ear of Hamlet's father.
Look at me! Now I'm gone.
I'm Tony the Leaf, a freaked out
New Age salesman of dreams.
Pick one at a price of a dollar.
December 27, 1987