Badman of the Guest Professor

for Joe Overstreet, David Henderson, Albert Ayler & d mysterious ‘H’ who cut up d Rembrandts

u worry me whoever u are

i know u didnt want me to

come here but here i am just

d same; hi-jacking yr stagecoach,

hauling in yr pocket watches & mak

ing u hoof it all d way to

town. black bard, a robber w/ an

art: i left some curses in d cash

box so ull know its me

listen man, i cant help it if

yr thing is over, kaput,

finis

no matter how u slice it dick

u are done. a dead duck all out

of quacks. d nagging hiccup dat

goes on & on w/out a simple glass

of water for relief

uve been teaching shakespeare for

20 years only to find d joke

on u

d eavesdropping rascal who got it

in d shins because he didnt know

enough to keep his feet behind d cur

tains: a sad-sacked head served on a

platter in titus andronicus or falstaff

too fat to make a go of it

anymore

iii

its not my fault dat yr tradition

was knocked off wop style & left in

d alley w/ pricks in its mouth. i

read abt it in d papers but it was no

skin off my nose

wasnt me who opened d gates & allowed

d rustlers to slip thru unnoticed. u

ought to do something abt yr security or

mend yr fences partner

dont look at me if all dese niggers

are ripping it up like deadwood dick;

doing art d way its never been done. mak

ing wurlitzer sorry he made d piano dat

will drive mozart to d tennis

courts

making smith-corona feel like d red

faced university dat has just delivered china

some 50 e-leben h bomb experts

i didnt deliver d blow dat drove d

abstract expressionists to my ladies

linoleum where dey sleep beneath tons of

wax & dogshit & d muddy feet of children or

because some badassed blackpainter done sent

french impressionism to d walls of highrise

lobbies where dey belong is not my fault

martha graham will never do d jerk

shes a sweet ol soul but her hips

cant roll; as stiff as d greek

statues she loves so much

dese are d reasons u did me nasty

j alfred prufrock, d trick u pull

d in d bookstore today; stand in d

corner no peaches for a week, u lemon

u must blame me because yr wife is

ugly. 86-d by a thousand discriminating

saunas. dats why u did dat sneaky thing

i wont tell d townsfolk because u hv

to live here and im just passing thru

u got one thing right tho. i did say

dat everytime i read william faulkner i

go to sleep.

fitzgerald wdnt hv known a gangster if one

had snatched zelda & made her a moll tho

she wd hv been grateful i bet

bonnie of clyde wrote d saga of suicide

sal just as d feds were closing in. it is

worth more than d collected works of ts

elliot a trembling anglican whose address

is now d hell dat thrilld him so

last word from down there he was open

ing a publishing co dat will bore d

devil back to paradise

& by d way did u hear abt grammar?

cut to ribbons in a photo finish by

stevie wonder, a blindboy who dances

on a heel. he just came out of d slang

& broke it down before millions.

it was bloody murder

vii

to make a long poem shorter—3 things

moleheaded lame w/4 or 5 eyes

1) yr world is riding off into d sunset

2) d chips are down & nobody will chance yr i.o.u.s.

3) d last wish was a fluke so now u hv to re

turn to being a fish

p.s. d enchantment has worn off

dats why u didnt like my reading list—right?

it didnt include anyone on it dat u cd in

vite to a cocktail party & shoot a lot of

bull—right?

so u want to take it out on my hide—right?

well i got news for u professor nothing—i

am my own brand while u must be d fantasy of

a japanese cartoonist

a strangekind of dinosaurmouse

i can see it all now. d leaves

are running low. its d eve

of extinction & dere are no holes to

accept yr behind. u wander abt yr

long neck probing a tree. u think

its a tree but its really a trap. a

cry of victory goes up in d kitchen of

d world. a pest is dead. a prehis

toric pest at dat. a really funnytime

prehistoric pest whom we will lug into

a museum to show everyone how really funny

u are

yr fate wd make a good

scenario but d plot is between u &

charles darwin.

as i said, im passing thru, just sing

ing my song. get along little doggie &

jazz like dat. word has it dat a big gold

shipment is coming to californy. i by to

ride all night if im to meet my pardners

dey want me to help score d ambush

Source: New and Collected Poems (Self-published, 1988)