I'm late. Sue me.
For The Poet Lee Litif, Replying to
A Line From Walter Howard
"The orgasm that never quite made it,"
it would be as if you yourself
took a date rape drug to bring
the entire audience into catharsis,
if it weren't for your own screams
into the mike while at the center of our
jeering, a circle of broken pop culture items
your ceremonial circle of protection,
the podium like a bucking bronco
in your shaking hands.
You've become one of the unnamed,
extra end-days horseman, uncommitted
to the cause of the main four,
who were long ago let loose on the earth
and now sadly ignore you, seeing
your musical chaos as superfluous,
becoming as predictably nonchalant
about the arts as any boring human.
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