whacked out by vision through horn rims
driven by a lust for life and men and justice and aim and ohm
pervert hero, you masturbated publicly hiding your hand under your poetry
an American poet, the grimy sublime of being
sexy tripping along the boardwalk of the world
naked high and free as the ruby sun
I think of you as I watch pigeons mating in the shadow of the Statue of Liberty and ripe young suits have a game of catch through the lunch hour
I think of you when my poems get noticed for their naughty words
I think of you when I capitalize myself