Sneaky Pete

What’s happened to the poem as poem, Sneaky Pete? What’s happened to the poem as poem? It’s crossing the Pacific In an underwater sky lab, In a cute little butane box ln a gizmo way down there. And the shitty air smells pretty To us old-time gringos, But our loop-the-loop-the-loop biplane Isn’t used to the tundra. So push a little harder Till the gizmo acts frisky With multi-colored fissures That widen as you walk. Rush-hour joggers brush against me Whispering of nightmarish accessories. What’s happened to the poem as poem, Sneaky Pete? What’s happened to the poem as poem? It’s dangling from a black hole In a Golden Oldie time warp, In a fun little gunnysack In a doodad way up here. Yin. The cute die in summer. Yang. Dark out and the curtain’s stuck. There’s a Papa Doc sunset On my “That’s All, Folks!” burnoose. No touchee! Its naked loins Turn young lungs puce. Jes’ keep your lips on the siphon, hon. I’m movin’ back to town. Back where the poem as poem’s gone, Back where the poem’s gone. Back where the poem as poem’s gone. Back where the poem’s gone.