Would you buy a poem from me?
And this isn’t a question that’s figurative,
this ain’t some rhetorical,
‘cause I’m achin’ at the Satisfaction them Rollin’ Stones is croonin’,
I’m in ‘n out ‘n day ‘n night workin’ in the feild I love,
doin’ the work I don’t,
‘n I got all this time devoted to this art,
‘n some days,
it
don’t
much
feel
like
art.
writin’ sentences backwards ’cause that’s just how they sound,
,dnuos yeht woh tsuj s’taht esuac’ sdrawkcab secnetnes ‘nitirw
so I ask,
if I sat on some street-corner,
used type-writer dryin’ ink on the ribbon,
tappin’ ‘gainst that stuck stuck stuck stuck “tttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttt”
your subject, your price,
poems, fuckin’, poems for sale.
‘n I mean,
ain’t it just
ain’t it just
ain’t it just
s
o
o
o
o
o
o
o
o
methin’. [“ks he dost protest too much” *Strain, Dippel, et al.]
would you buy a poem from me?
really, really, really?
ain’t no shame in the “no” darlin’,
ain’t even got a type-writer to my name.
