Harvey

[only rob]

"Shit, I'm Channeling Harvey Pekar"





Last night, (watching American Splendor) fighting
whateverthefuckcoldorflu is trying to kill me
this time,

I wanted to drop a dime on those other dudes who are
riding my name,
that others call the same thing they call me,
wanted to see if they are legends in their own minds,
find out if they are poets
or other sorts of cancer, like lawyers or chemical
engineers.

Late, (fated to channel Harvey Pekar again) I
fantasized about the crematorium
again, and
wondered why my misery is insufficient for my own
Letterman or Crumb to plumb my
depths,
because what the world needs, really really needs
is another pretentious, prosy,
navel-gazing poet
like me.

But, see, tonight Fear and Loathing is on, and the
stars will obscure the bats under my
hat,
and obscurity will seem irrelevant.

I'll jump on a train or a red convertible, a rocketship
to some hidden and paisley-draped
Ameriky or Rockland, climb the
Big Rock Candy Mountains,
clear to the Puschcart Prize:
that's the ticket!

At least, it's finally snowing.