Rough Trade

Rough Trade

“By nature monandrous,
he finds it hard to desert
a piece of trade”
—W.H. Auden,
“Profile,” Collected Poems

I thank God daily—
That I was born and bred
American Hippie

A boyhood full of dope—
And good things to smoke
Why not be a Slacker?

Gluttony and sloth—
So much better than
Ponzi Lust and Greed

Look at all the maudlin—
Workers broker than
Broke can be

Stock Market scams—
Bailed out day-dreams
All the bankers bankrupt

Give me Patchouli—
Paisley sheets to dream
I’m just a Sixties Sissy

No use to stomp Feet—
I’ve wept sometimes
But never slit my wrist

Vain? Not really, but—
A mere joint or puff of
Hookah—sometimes works

Praise? Unimportant—
Look what happened to
Detroit—and the Big Three

Life is a precious gift—
No other presents so fine
As one’s good health

I envy nobody who—
Reads the NYTimes or
Watches FOX-News

I prefer Firbank’s novels—
To what’s happening
Daily in the WSJ

In the Big City—
Funny how all the street
Lights—turn off for me

They say that I’m—
Obsessive because I
Still wear Long Hair

I try to be Neat—
Wearing it tidily
In a nice Pony-Tail

Why does my Blog—
Laptop and cell-phone
Make me feel so horny?

My Guardian Angel—
Never tells me
What to do next

Conscious of good luck—
I know when to quit
Las Vegas early

Blogosphere Readers—
Are we really the only
Happy ones—in the Aether?

On getting high—
Arnold wants to tax us
Now that California is broke

Anxiety dreams are cool—
Just when I give up hope
I ejaculate like a fool

Laughing-gas fits—
Make me feel so high
See all the Capitol “F’s”?

Why, when alone—
Ever since way back when
The Urge—to Write?

I’ve never seen God—
But a couple of times

He’s fucked me good

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