Iago, the Poet

First, let me say it is sickening, this syrupy public
adoration for being homespun and common
tongued, master of the art. I tire of his shotgunning metaphors
to stuff and mount on his study wall.
Last night I convinced a group of drunken bards to burn a pile
of his essays and his effigy while slamming down more beer
and shouting, You’re not our leader! Today I made the surrealists
believe he would come after them next and they should join
the language poets and attack first. I’ve tricked his confidants
into thinking he’s used them. I have convinced his fans
he’s insincere, a stage-clambering phony who borrows
ideas, has roots in the greeting card business. But my best
yet was swaying him to see his great love as a cheap
whore for hacks, charlatans and poseurs; and ruin his own career.

Copyright © 2005 J. P. Dancing Bear All rights reserved
from In a Fine Frenzy - edited by David Starkey and Paul J. Willis
University of Iowa Press
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission