RAPE OF A POET

 If lust and hate is the candy,
 if blood and love taste so sweet,
 then we give 'em what they want.
       --Natalie Merchant, 10,000 Maniacs

How quickly idols fall--here's the one
That's selling truth and sneakers,
Here's another selling underwear,
Justice, peace, and beer--
Their revolution's dead, there's only fear
Of dark obscurity, of not being a star--
Their fans are blind, their eyes are fixed
On something that's intangible and far--
Yes, yes, they need that perfect ass and car,
Those biceps and those sacred breasts
That magazines and factories caress
Like engineered parts--
Here's your leg, my head, your jaw, my heart,
That's pulverized in dirt,
We're making love like faucets
In the dark
With mouthwashed movements
And mechanical embraces--
Here's the one that's selling love
And hackneyed lines--"I love you, baby,
Yes, tonight it's real"---
Here's a nose job and plastic smiling faces,
A blow job, a hand job and a jolt
Inside my head, my head that bursts like atom
And farts throughout Universe like Big Bang
Inside some Einstein figure made of wax,
Yes, here's your Washington, here's your Lincoln,
Your Malcolm X, your Martin Luther King,
Here's your Elvis, Jesus and Sid Vicious,
Here's your dead rich uncle Phil or Bill
Or Duckbilled Platypus,
Here's your supermodel, your vibrator,
Your lubricated condom and your tax,
Here's your lyric poet, raped and violated--
Spread-eagled on a page like some cheap whore,
While you keep shouting "MORE" and "MORE" and "MORE"...
 

                                                                February 17, 1993
                                                             --Alexander Shaumyan