9055. EDITOR

EDITOR

My editor's an idiot, as they all

do seem to be. They still say things

like 'ibid' and 'stet.' Oh fools. Oh fools.

-

I want to be on a grassy knoll  -  not 

so much like the one in Dallas, more

like one in Peapack or Gladstone, 

wherever it was, in 1969. Those are

horse-farm places in Jersey; the

rich tend their horses in flocks.

-

Every other car is something special 

now; that's all become quite ordinary. 

Maserati and Lamborghini too  -  you

can buy them at the corner store. The

science is exact for money. These rich

folk have got it all  -  they send their

daughters out for riding lessons.

-

All crop, and tiny asses, little clumps

of flesh and saddle. Neither I nor horse

can really care. It's all a matter of mind.

I guess what you imagine is what you find.

But, anyway, my editor's still an idiot,

as they all seem to be.