EAT YOUR OWN DOG
(reflections:nyc, 2012)
Seymour Krim, Saul Bellow, Harold Bloom.
Take your pick, assortment boy; you can have
the entire Navy if you wish : one fell swoop will
bring it over to your table. Along the blue horizon,
the elderly minstrel is singing his wavering songs -
a narrow Wordsworthian poetry not worth a darn.
We covered those battlements over long ago :
broadly painted plywood over windows and doors,
like a Jackson Pollock nightmare toilet seat cover
from that outhouse they found in the Hamptons and
claimed it was his. There's money in them thar' frills.
-
You don't have to like what I say; I say it nonetheless.
I walk down 23rd with my head held aloft - higher
than clouds, taller then hotels, wider than Nieman
and Marcus, if they ever showed up. Bite my diamond
pedestal and you may spit out the crumbs. Absorb
my feet, polish my boots, I will let you. There are no
more pages left in my yellow notebook, Chinaman;
so go ahead and eat your own dog, thanks.
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