Reply to poem: “I Dreamed I Met William Burroughs,” by Franz Wright (Pulitzer Prize for poetry, 2004). Published in The New Yorker, December 14, 2009.

                                        OUR HOST

           TOP CHEF OF BODILY COMMISSIONS

Franz, my poet you “enthroned” me in this very “gigantic armchair”

Bohemian Royalty, royally how I’ve sweated in my kitchen, this very chair where stains of my toil are forever enshrined, impervious to solvent, solvency or sanity

all the day through, you know, roiling in amphetamine & dope

And me, me mean visionary I am

 Have

WHA LA!

Slaved over masturbatory fantasies

Ejaculated for guests unpalatable savories

For your delectation produced a feast for your eyes

Dig it man,

Dig into the fruits of my bodily fluids

The succulent self-serving pages

To all you cool-cats

Welcome

To my Naked Lunch

To all who gorge and anoint it art

I belch out resoundedly

Ah, ‘twas was nothing but a fart

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POSTSCRIPT

FROM dailyplanet 

To prospective female gate crashers:  

 ____________________________________________________

I dreamed I met Burroughs in a nightmare

the nightmare of his own mind where, for one, the feminine form

scentless of essence-de-estrogen dare tread.

 (Lady-Chicks beware the best you can receive is a host gift goody-bag of

 benzedrine inhalers and an arrow through the head).