About A Boy

Allen Ginsberg's FBI file could be the greatest pop-punk single of all time,

according to Senate Majority leader John Yau.

This is abstract techno,

stuttered and scraped through a ravenous bird

and the flesh of decomposing humans.

Charles Bernstein writes this kind of thing all the time

and it rarely applies like it does now,

a literary thriller that sold 28 million copies to junkies alone

for a dollar two ninety eight --

less ten.

It obviously didn't win awards for being subtle

and all my energy and talk about poor children,

wagging fingers and William Carlos Williams

bring lofty expectations that inevitably are

talked about from here to O. Henry,

except in cases when Viktor tells us

something about our selves,

our hobbies and nicknames perhaps.

You gotta ask your selves:

If the brightest minds on our planet could produce

such a terrifying weapon of mass destruction

what do you call it when two or more objects

are seen as a Sergio Leone movie?

That's right, you gots.

It's called THE ENTIRE POEM,

and not just the celebration of drive-by shootings

in my neighborhood because that's an enduring

comedy set against late-period, pop-construct Linda Vista

(in itself as prefabricated as any Britney Spears).

But I'm at the top of the heap with Allen Ginsberg

and our nerves talk about Frosty The Snowman.

Remember Arnold the pig? That's who I wanted to vote for,

but in a complex and not demagogic way.

The apples in the stereo require the uses of the cookies and

the fleshing out of the non-poet audience requires

the hard-boiling of that darling baroque fantasy About A Boy.