“The hostility to association of fine art with normal processes of living is a pathetic, even a tragic, commentary on life as it is ordinarily lived.”
My favorite gender was a queen
In light makeup, when her sleeves were green
And her youthful mouth crimson red
And the crown came off and she put her head next to my head.
The cameras made sure things were secure around the royal bed.
The queen and I could see two thousand years of history,
But it took a lot of reading to actually know
The significance of Greenland and Marilyn Monroe.
However, to know who was coming that day for tea,
And which rivalry was dangerous, and which jealousy was already dead
Took no education at all.
That day her DNA held me in thrall.
Put on your coat to meet the other coats and face the day.
Your father was president. That means he had a certain role to play.
Before it all happened, certain arrangements had to go a certain way.
Since everyone is born confused, only the simple needs to be explained,
But the simple keeps throwing people off.
They live out simple explanations before the longer ones
Get themselves into their souls,
So they lose sleep, and go to pot, and are continually burdened with a cough.
It’s luck. It’s inheritance. Baudelaire, and the rest, are fools.
Yes, there will be those simplistic, effortless ones,
Who, better endowed by nature, hate man-made rules,
The womanizers who are stupid but go to the best schools;
But they are weak, they are not Renaissance artists, they can’t compete with you.
They hate the crowd, but are the crowd. That commie, John Dewey, too.