"Fuck You!" Suite

this series I do remember writing...it was actually a book I never published...



     FUCK YOU! SUITE


Fuck You, Chicken or the Egg!
Where did you ever get me but before before?
That is not a very nice place to stand.
That is not a place at all, actually,
but some dick-wrinkles who made money
to talk about this called themselves my teachers.
Now we do not talk. They watch AMC
and drink Jagermeister at 3 a.m.
I don't miss them, and they don't remember me.

*

Fuck You, American Avant-Garde!
You are so worried about your blogs
when you should be worried about your prostates, your pussies.
You should hold your conferences and bitch-fights
in the front offices of your proctologists and gynos.
Soon, death will invade your Elysian
poppy fields of ego and you will smell life
Too Late! It will not smell
like a lesbian covers band, your fantasy.
It will smell like Adrienne Rich's grave
and her hand will lunge up like Carrie's
and seize the mortal hand poised over a laptop.

*

Fuck You, Morrissey!
O Rock Nun, Cock Nun, you probably ruined my life
by making it okay never to work
all though my twenties...I held the Ouija board
of poetry and stayed in my room instead.
A twenty-nine year old adolescent is a terrible
crime against nature & fashion but you made it seem
all right. How will I ever catch up
with the other capitalists now, when I still
don't even know what is where in New York.
The Bronx is up and the Battery's down
and Paumanok is a fish? Something like that?
Poofter! A gay man's melisma destroyed all my hopes.

*

Fuck You, Fuzzy Bunnies!
You soft bundles of mammalian cuteness
that run under my axles at 1:41 a.m.
on the long stretch of 441 with adjoining fields
no matter how slow I drive. You're born
to guilt me, bloody brown Q-tips
left standing on stumps, bitten off
like Easter Bunnies! I feel like Macbeth
swallowing the viscid red sea of his wife's
menstrual ambition. I get queasy.
Like you, my little headless friends
I too have been roadkill, I too know the wind-shear of Eros.