Do I wish I were less
ambivalent about poetry?
Can I be a god-mouth after all?
Seems like emotional sophistry
when I or anybody
responds to the call:
“Please seduce me,
“feed me heart pie,
“speak in my ear and help me have a ball!” —
diamond-studded piano-ring
presented to Liberace
by Baron Hilton with a three-mil contract. What a tall
man Liberace weren’t! But they played Vegas
(sometimes making their entrance
on a trapeze),
AND they always kept all
their clothes on—a modest guy,
taking a brave self-loving stroll.
Don't want to be lackadaisical about my dreams.
Soles, you’re free!
