September 29, 2021

My Facetious Me, An Autobiography

The poet part of me
puns himself
with supercilious frivolity,
writes, “I am…” But who? What
sort of hair ball caught
in-the-throat-of-talk am I?
A latter day Wallace Stevens,
belly up to the bar, punch drunk
but all business​? What about
Freddie Groffe on board his ass
galumphing down into the Grand Canyon?
Or am I Don Quixote bossing Sancho Panza?
Oh, the names I can pretend!
But suppose… I’m spelled i-a-m-b,
cultured pearl of poetry,
mother of pentameter,
father of the sonnet.
How do I sign on?
The trail balloon of my CV takes off.
But am I on board?
I look around,
but find only rumors to try on.

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