The New Face of the American Poetry Underground

The New Face of the American Poetry Underground

(By Walter Beck)

Strutting on stage

With all the swagger of Axl Rose;

I remember the first time

I got on stage,

Starring down at the podium

And gripping the sides,

Not in ecstasy,

But to calm my shaking hands.

Now that mic is a weapon

And the mic stand the stock.

I’ve grown to hate podiums

Because they restrict my swagger.

Spitting fire and fantasy,

Shirtless, sweaty,

Dripping with stage blood,

Feeling like my heroes and idols.

Off-stage

I’m fueled by greasy take-out and Thunderbird,

Nights on and off,

Spent in bars,

Two-dollar gin & tonics

And five-dollar pitchers

With wild music on the juke.

Off-stage

I’m bombarded

With fantasies and dreams

Of fellow poets and freaks

Wanting to use me and use them.

Long-timers

Rubbing one out

To thoughts of me pulling their hair

And pissing on them;

Leading them around on a leash and collar,

And performing naked

While they submit

To my every whim.

Editors

Asking me

What the freakiest thing I would do to them,

And I said I would write a poem

In their own cum.

Freaks

Wanting to foot fuck me,

Lick and cum

All over this

Natural Hoosier leather.

On-stage, off-stage and on the page

I am becoming

The rock n roll poet.