You are a whore. You are an old whore.
Everyone hates you. God hates you.
He pretty much has had it with all women

But, let me tell you, especially you. You like
To think that you can think faster than
The rest of us—hah! We drive the car

In which you’re a crash dummy! So
Why do you defy our Executive Committee
Which will never cede its floor to you? If a pig

Flew out of a tree & rose to become
A blimp—you would write a poem
About it, ignoring the Greater Good,

The hard facts of gravity. You deserve to be
Flattened by the Greater Good—pigs don’t
Fly, yet your arrogance is that of a blimp

Which has long forgotten its place on this earth.
Big arrogance unmoored from its launch pad
Floating free, up with mangy Canadian honkers,

Up with the spy satellites and the ruined
Ozone layer which is, btw, caused by your breath,
Because you were born to ruin everything, hacking

Into the inspiration of the normal human ego.
You are not Queen Tut, honey, you are not
Even a peasant bar-maid, you are an aristocrat

Of Trash, landmine of exploding rhinestones,
Crown of thorns, cabal of screech-bats!
I am telling you this as an old friend,

Who is offering advice for your own good—
Change now or we will have to Take Measures—
If you know what I mean, which you do—

& now let’s hear one of your fucked-up poems:
let’s hear you refute this truth any way you can.