Hart Crane Homeward Bound XVII

Suffering catfish, if I lived to be
the ass of a mynah bird, I would
mimic my fart and call it Art.

Got your attention now, in the bombastic
John underDonne way with Southern fries,
Note, Hart and I, we are buddies like Dante
and Virgil, we get along in the fantastic,
the Rosemary Jackson, kind of thing,
cept, it is in a kinda po-et-try
As our mate Owen Wilson says when
the day is not a bummer, just "living the life"
We are, pretty, stoked, it is pathetic
that the catfish in the Naturalistic
setting should suffer at all, but then the
duck paddling along like a Twain steamer,
above, mind, it has one, fixed on food,
As W.V Quine would opine, what would a
lion say if it could speak, not much, "Meat"
and thus our duck with webbed feet paddles
into the wide open mouth of the catfish,

So suffering duck, if I lived to be the nipple
of a wizard, I would conjure myself to flex
deltoids to the tune of a fretted dulcimer,

Got your attention twice, in the repeat,
the sit-com I have seen this so many times
I love Lucy way, or the zany Phyliss Diller,
who is still scooting along, fine thank you,
ordered with a take out of Mighty Taco
fa-ji-ta , note again for the deja-vu
that Hart and I, are poetry buddies in spirit
of , now I can't think of anybody - next
actor, dragged in, is our Tom Cruise dancing
the Latino shinbang as the Grossman, bold
as a sergeant bilko, we get along in the
William Empson manner, no ambiguity
about our relations, just purely literary,
On board the junk, sails open like bedsheets
drying on a steamy lazy afternoon,
we are sailing into the encyclopedia
will meet the odd cyclone and typhoon,
the odd maelstrom, and the odd American Dream,