Not—for what I did—but, like most of us, for what I might have done—and used instead to inflate the First Person Singular with the airs of my hot compartments.
The extravert posing as the introvert.
The hoofer philosopher.
Shame, shame, shame!
Shame ran off me.
And I shall die, in it and with it.
I went to my window to look at the city the messy cubes in the haze and somebody's radio performed an act of God.
Ja-da
Ja-da
Ja-da, ja-da, jing, jing, jing.
Shimmy, I thought.
Shimmy.
Shimmy in your B.V.D.'s.
You wear 'em in the winter and you wear 'em in the fall
You wear 'em in the summer if you wear 'em at all.
Shimmy.
Shimmy!
Shimmy in your B.V.D.'s.
This is a message to and of the American people.
The Dream.
The Cross.
Everybody
Loves my body
But my body
Don't love nobody
But me.
Dear Dean Casselberry:
I have read all the books in your library. I am a God-fearing, patriotic American. I believe in brother-love and liberty. In the folks, who made me what I am and from whom I cannot find myself different in any respect. Aside from that, you are right. I am sending you, under separate cover, my ear, which I have cut off for you. It is all I had to give and you may address it in the first person because it will then understand. Also, for the inflation of a balloon like mine, I send these directions: use equal parts of the outcries of the oppressed and laughter; for ballast—you will be there, and you should also carry a pail of tears.
Phil Wylie
Some give money
some give work
but if you give the person
brother, you're a jerk.
It didn't do me any good ... for ...
If you try to tell the truth
there's only you telling it.