This is a poem about my cock.
[LAUGHTER]
I started to write a series of poems about my cock
because I thought it was a subject that
hadn't been done enough.
[LAUGHTER]
I wrote about 20 of them, I guess.
But there's just so much you can say.
[LAUGHTER]
I have two left, actually.
I wasn't going to read the other one because I
don't particularly like it.
But since there are so many poets around here, I will.
It's called "From Scratch."
And it's dedicated to all the names I
had to leave out for the meter.
"When I read somebody else's good poem,
it's like putting another cock over mine.
It's like somebody saying, here, try mine.
I say, thanks, I've got one.
They said, go ahead.
What do you care?
It's like having 10 cocks, one over the other.
And your real one is inside, thin as a worm.
From Viejo to Blake to Kinnell to Rimbaud to Whitman, Neruda,
Knott, Merwin, Mandel, Sandburg, on, on, on.
Even women's poems have cocks on them when you're a man reading
them, like Anne Sexton's or Denise Levertov's.
Then it really gets funny.
The worm puts its head out and says, hey, this is great.
What's happening?
The whole world full of cocks crashing
into each other like race cars.
Other people's cocks can make it laugh too,
like after you fuck with someone you really
believe is right there.
And it's all right, that laughter.
Or like calling your friend and saying,
I feel awful, just awful.
And he makes you happier.
Or your daughter comes into this strange place
full of men screaming and says, you making poems?
I help you.
And all of the poems lie back, smiling to themselves.
All the cocks shrink down in the corner like old dogs.
Jessie, the whole life of mankind
should start again every morning like this.
I want you to meet these people, Jessie.
They're my family too.
They make poems too.
Some are crying.
Some are in such pain.
Take care of them too."