Answer To An Open-Minded
Reader
I have been insane.
Many things are worse.
Although it had more pain
Than afterward a hearse.
The poets that I sing
Mean nothing but a star,
A shallow shining thing.
Stars are what they are.
Though my skin is deep,
There's nothing in my soul,
No similes to reap
Diamonds from coal.
And if a poet blows
Of patriotic gods,
I hang him so the crows
Won't eat the budding pods.
A spirit in me lives
My father couldn't tame.
I won't read my countrymen,
And they will do the same.
11-22-13
Sweet
Something sweet or sweetly said
That warms your body while it's read,
Leaves a glow when it is done -
The epitome of fun.
I can write the sweetly said
And make a Christian of the dead,
But I meet in gross defeat
The epitome of sweet.
Always bested in a fight,
I never wanted to be right.
Wooed by Keats when he was dead.
Something sweet or sweetly said.
11-22-13
Revenge
He didn't hate the blacks.
He grew up to be gay.
He thought that all the immigrants
Should be allowed to stay.
He said the most unpleasant things
About the NRA.
It made him feel disgusted
Just to see a Christian pray.
He planned to leave America
In April, March or May.
He died an awful death,
And that made everybody say,
“Virtue has been vindicated.
Jesus has his way.”
11-22-13
Milk
A miserable lunatic
Supported by his ilk
Killed a human being
By the name of Harvey Milk.
Milk was homosexual.
While fagots shook their fists,
The homophobic city
Only slapped the killer's wrists.
Thanksgiving will be here.
The ranches run with gore.
And Milk a memory that Yankees
Can be thankful for.
11-22-13
Threads
The covers on my books
Are beautiful to see.
Pity that's not true
Of the poetry.
Poetry! The threads
That flourish with delight
Where people without talent
Publish what they write
And carry on at length,
Believing that they think.
And so, so goes the world,
And a sea of ink.
Like water, blood and wine
Do these opinions flow,
And not a soul among them
Says, “I do not know.”
11-22-13
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