Burroughs

and if you think i give a shit

about william s burroughs

that skinny bugger wearing the infamous 3 piece suit or enjoy

his forehead wrinkles which give off a kind of mental smoke

as he slurs a beaten message with an ape-like malodorous ramble

about pissing into a porcelain sink in open view

of an innocent 1950s sweet little thing named LuAnne who has never seen a scarred penis

hanging from a dead man's hand or felt a loaded pistol inside her mouth

well, i don't give a shit

certainly not about any grandiose typewriter money

or his bowel movements in deepest penetration Tangier

where he goofed around smoking hashish, sniffing cocaine in Mayfair

atop a naked lunch counter where he ate big blackest meat for an afternoon snack

well, i don't give a shit

even if he was the only son of a bitch wearing clothes in a mad Warhol waiting room

when the junkie cops burst in looking for a queer saint wearing cheap clothes

and he quickly removed his tie and kissed each cop dead on the lips

and every one grew happy and every one began passing condoms

from hand to hand to hand, smiling in a soulful albino trance

well, i don't give a shit

and at the 34th street Greyhound station, i saw him reading the Herald Tribune

with a burning cigarette near his short finger, and

a Chelsea Girl showed him her pig face and he marvelously said

"You have no taste" but she wasn't paying him no mind chewing her gum

and she spit it away and began singing an old song about getting laid by an old man

but he was hard to get into bed while visiting friends in a New York city hotel

and if you think i give a shit

about william s burroughs

blowing white hot smoke up my ass or yours for that matter,

defending public narcotics and even hotter cocks in his ultimate hard core World

of knowing more about you than you know of yourself

well, i don't

i can't read Cities of the Red Night and i hate kittens, having

watched them frantically lap up warm milk from a tender bowl

he placed carefully on the carpeted living room floor

of his hidden house in Lawrence, Kansas

really, i don't feel at all comfortable driving around his legacy,

taking over the wheel and screeching the god damn tires and neither should you,

even if he is a corpse, walking or otherwise, half or whole,

puking or jacking off in a corner while looking you

straight in the eye, unblinking

so no, i don't give a shit

about william s burroughs

but he did have one hell of a ride.