i always wanted to be a figment of imagination,
a doll in the attic, mint at first glance,
but lined with saliva and falling apart
at each disjointed seam.
the poet is a whore, no better
than the freudian voodoo doll that you keep
under your pillow, no grander
than the magazine squeezed under your box spring.
so write me in, stewart. i have been dying
to be in a class rage fairy tale.
fitzgerald's glamour in salinger's squalor.
i'm a costume jewelry diamond necklace,
the grand dame's folly.
and so, for the gods of comedy,
you'll sacrifice me on the altar of belly laughs
and alligator tears. imagine it!
the college dropout in connecticut,
the librarian in LA.
the lemon in your eye
(spit take)rousing applause. the camera loves you,
baby doll.
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