The other one is an earlier one.
And it's called the "Cooled Heels Lament Against Frivolity,
the Mask of Despair."
"Dugan's deathward, darling-- you in your unseeable beauty,
oh, fictitious, legal person, need be only
formally concerned, but there is someone too much here,
perspiring in your waiting room.
Because I did not listen when you said, 'Don't call us,
we'll call you,' your credulous receptionist believes that I am
a phony, fairy, Jew, capitalist-communist spy
for Antichrist--
[LAUGHTER]
--a deviated maladjusted lobbyist for the Whiskey Trust,
or else accepts me as I am--
a fool.
So, while I sit here fouling song,
wasting my substance on the air, the universe
is elsewhere, out the window in the sky.
You in your inner office, Muse, smoking a given, good cigar
and swapping dated stories with star salesmen of the soul,
refuse to hear my novel pitch while I sit out
here getting old."
So, that's all I'll say about the poetic life and the--
[LAUGHTER]