By Writing a Poem

By writing a poem I shall now build a palace, by writing a poem I shall claim a limousine, by writing a poem though I may not be elected President I shall demand my fistful of earth: for eons this world has been indebted to the shepherd's song. By writing a poem I shall claim Scotch, premium brand, and a leg of chicken cooked in unadulterated oil, nothing less— for this poem I shall demand countless odalisques— or a woman whose knees I can clasp in a public place and crave sympathy. Whenever I stand at the level crossing I must hear gunfire— after writing a poem I shall not renounce my demands— like a pariah I shall roll in the dust near your feet, wringing blood out of bones—I am still waiting, begging open humanness from humankind's eyes— from the fevered forehead, spit and phlegm I have come for this poem, like a brutal drunk I have incinerated myself and risen from the ashes, awake to the sound of helplessness echoing in my lonesome room I have come to avenge everything by writing a poem.