från Lyrikvännen 2/72:
Död
Innan jag somnar lägger jag händerna i kors på bröstet.
De ska lägga mina händer så.
Det kommer att se ut som om jag flög in i mig själv.
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Sömn
Vi stryker längs den andra, osynliga månen.
Dess grottor kommer fram och hämtar in oss.
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All these rock'n'rollers propped up by publicists and the media with the honorific title of "poet":
how many times have you read or heard, 'Oh yeah, he/she's not just a singer-songwriter, he/she's a real poet.'
Oh yeah, well make Joni Dylan and all those other supposed "poets" actually live on the monthly average paycheck budget of even the most successful poem-writing poet,
and see how how many days before they start screaming
"No, no! I'm not a poet, I'm a popstar! Gimme back my limo! Bring back my maid chauffeur bodyguard cook! where's my PA?!"
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