a little Mailer-esque
With a love a madness for Shelley
Chatterton Rimbaud
and the needy-yap of my youth
has gone from ear to ear:
I HATE OLD POETMEN!
Especially old poetmen who retract
who consult other old poetmen
who speak their youth in whispers,
saying:--I did those then
but that was then
that was then--
O I would quiet old men
say to them:--I am your friend
what you once were, thru me
you'll be again--
Then at night in the confidence of their homes
rip out their apology-tongues
and steal their poems.
*I originally posted this poem surrounding my 25th birthday, in an attempt to not collect myself and to take things less seriously. As my 26th year approaches, I have decided to repost this to serve as a healthy reinforcement of my steady maturation as I hit that late twenties bracket. Gasp!
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