OF GRACEFULLESSNESS

OF GRACEFULLESSNESS

if you
don’t like these
words tough

I can
litigate
don’t
push your luck

and — I’m telling you–
they’re not
stolen so much
as not paid for
yet (as an
purveyor of
academics I’m not
a wholesale
plagiarist) the
exact amount
I can’t disclose (no
lie even
it is not
what I said yesterday)
since I’m under
audit

they asked me if I
would put all my
poetry into
a blindfund and
I castigated them by
equating me to
Milton and
Homer (one of
whom is, I
believe, a
Greek and we
know how bottomed-
out that economy)

I know the best words
I know a good
word when
I see one

and I not without
urbanity, lacking all
charity: when
you

called me charlatan (such
a lovely-sounding word) on
live TV I was
quick to
respond to the
compliment and
than you

as you can see from
this poem I am
on a mission
the very
epitome
of gracefullessnss

HOW COME

How come
nobody ever asks
if the big bad
wolf was alpha?

does the issue
never even
enter into the frame?

Crazy that when
Jules and Vincent have to
pop by Tarantino’s
to get the blood
and brains washed
out the car

its the big bad Harvey Keitel
wolf who is phoned
pitches up, organises
the two dirty little pigs
to (please, pretty
fucking please) wash
all the blood off
themselves, every
incriminating stain or scrap
from the car

a more lucrative
profession this than
blowing houses down.