American Kitsch

I.
lady i swear by all flowers
Ph’nglui mglw’nafh
Cthulhu R’lyeh wgah’nagl fhtagn

II.
I hear America singing
The varied carols I hear,—
A killer bee that’s stinging
My inner inner ear.

III.
I see you, Allen Ginsberg, in a supermarket in California,
fondling nakedly a pair of hairy kiwis,
smoking a cigarette with dirty fingers and a gratified expression,
fantasizing about Walt Whitman fantasizing about grocery boys
fantasizing about free bananas,
farting windily from your often-plugged-up-with-cocks asshole,
smelling like the unvenilated bathroom at Joe’s Greasy Sandwiches,
squeezing goop from a volcanic & holy pimple on your forearm,
weirding out the children who see NAMBLA written in your eyes,
scandalizing the squares who can’t handle their fruit in public,
waiting for the police to come give you a happy ending.

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In the Garden

420 days a year,
Eight days a week,
I climb high trees
& live in canopies.
I water, divined,
My vegetable mind,
& reach my peak
Where clouds career.

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Variations on a Theme of Robert Frost

The Secret Sits
We dance round in a ring and suppose,
But the Secret sits in the middle and knows.

Var. I
Ring around the rosie,
A pocket full of knowsie.

Var. 2
Atomically
Are we, and be
The nucleus
Unknown to us.

Var. 3
Musical chairs
We roundly play.
The music airs,
We circle away.

The music sounds.
The beats, they drop.
We ring in rounds
Without a stop.

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