" A Fresh Stick of Chewing Gum"A pink stick of gym unwrapped from the foil,That you hold between your fingers on the way home from dance class,And you look at its pink. But you know what.I like your brain. Your pink. It's sweet.My brain is the wrinkles of the ocean on a ball of tarInstead of being sweet pink like yours.It could be the nicotine. It could be the Johnnie Walker Black.Mine thought too many cigarettes for too many years.My brain is the size of the largest living thing, mais oui, a blue whale,Blue instead of pink like yours.It's what I've doneTo make it huge that made it huge.The violent sweetness in the air is the pink rainWhich continues achingly almost to fall.This is the closest it has come.This can't go on.Twenty-six years old is not childhood.you are not trying to stop smoking.You smoke and drinkand still it is pink.The answer is you can drink and smokeToo much at twenty-six,And stink of cigarettes,And stand outside on the sidewalk outside the bar to have a cigarette,As the law now requires, and it is paradise,And be the most beautiful girl in the world,And be moral,And vibrate into blank.
-- from Oooga-Booga, by Frederick Seidel
My hunch is that Mr. Seidel will forgive me for putting up one of his poems now and then. I'm guessing his work is not for all markets, though it slays me.