W.H. Auden

Letter to W.H. Auden

Excuse me, my dear—these lurid details
But surely being—a famous writer
You’ve got plenty—of fan-mail from the jails
You see I’m a lover—not fighter
It’s not as simple—as a one-nighter
I try to please—but you know how it is
The Tower of London—isn’t show biz

I’m sure you get—lots of white trash letters
From total strangers—who need some money
Lots of greedy hustlers—and go-getters
But I’m not into—seduction, honey
Even though that sounds—rather funny
I bet some guyz—send you nude photographs
But cheap thrills like that—only get cheap laughs

I’m more into—poetry like you are
I really like your—sardonic “Miss Gee”
I sing it every night—with my guitar
Your gay limericks—make me feel so free
They make me—want to go across the sea
To worship the—Bishop of Hong Kong’s dong
It’s rumored to be—at least a foot long

Many post work—on lavatory walls
William Logan—New York Times critic
Engraves his wants—in sullen still stalls
His reviews are always—so acidic
The way he treated Hart Crane—pathetic
Dishing Brooklyn Bridge—not str8ght enough
Chasing sailors—like a powder puff

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