Though you know nothing and should have no
reason to I must dictate this letter from myself
unto some noble personage of far descent.
Signed what's his name. You write the rest.

Hot day at the office, everybody
stripped down, split to cool like corn
out of its husks.

Big contract from the Letter I.
Another phone call through the mini track.
I hear Miss Blooper's bloopers
scintillate the air.
I watch her bloopers popping by
beneath her blouse.
Ah five o'clock,
hour of pizza and pizzazz.

My father's house was Ivy League,
my father's father's too.
I used to know your dad himself,
but what am I to you?

Hey can you crack a joke?

Oh the big buildings of STEEL
to house the racks of girlie mags
below me at the corner hack.
I peer down from out of my office cubby booth,
I notch the Rolls Royce of one Albert Black.
On his way up, perhaps a heart attack.

The digs of business never botched
a real man who eats and sleeps.

Pipes, we got'em.
Tankers rolling belly full of gold.
They're yours out in the harbor there.
Tonight Tangiers, tomorrow Santa Claus.
I smell the liquor of my penthouse flat
on one Miss Mary Sunshine in her black cravat.