‘Write an Ode to Celia? Why, she knows
I love her, ‘ Mick says to me.
We’re sitting in his kitchen
when out of the blue, Mick cuts loose.
‘I love her and Cordelia and Rosalind,
all the femmes fatale in all literature!
Even that Russian countess in Tolstoy
and above all, Cleopatra in her barge
on the Nile. Sure, I saw Liz Taylor in
the flick and even Katherine Hepburn
can turn me on, you know? ‘
I told him he sounded like those daffy poets
online whose idea of romance is a blowjob
back of the old moviehouses on 63rd street.
‘Those bums couldn’t get lucky in a whorehouse –
it’s all macho bullshit from guys with a perpetual
hardon! That’s why they write about it,
if you call what they do writing! More logorrhea! ‘
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