I do it all for you, Reader, because
I need your lovin', gotta have ALL
your lovin', cause no one else
can do it like I do it for you, O
I give great page, cause
you're my reader n I'm your
poet and we're stuck to each other
like Velcro on Velcro (here me crow!),
because this is a blank page speaking,
and blankness sucks, abhorred by nature,
and if blankness could talk (and it does,
it does -- nothing else talks), what blankness
would say to you (blankness pretending
to imagine that you are its opposite)
is "Fill me up with yourself! Become me!"
This particular blankness is a blank page
of poetry, so must be filled up only
with Premium readers. (Try sonnets
for really high Octet.) (Or put Blake's
Tiger in your tank.)
And why shouldn't we fill our blankness
with blankness? It's as logical
as our government's attempts to use
American tanks to fill America's tanks.
It's the new chicken in every pot:
After enough lies we'll have,
in each car full of fuel
a car full of fools. Careful!
Blankness and fullness. I am fullness;
therefore, I fulminate and fulgurate,
am fulsome to my admirers (lovely
admirers!), blow smoke (fuliginously)
up the sunless orifices of critics.
Poems out of full cloth (a fuller fulls
cloth). My attitude? Fuller than thou.
Note: Stanza one echoes several old love songs. Re stanza 2: We're
told by physicists that "nature abhors a vacuum." (Our
cat abhors a vacuum cleaner.) The blankness says "fill me with
yourself" to readers, since it remains blank, in a way (though
full of printed words) until a reader contributes life to it, fills
it's vacant pronouns (such as "you") with him/herself,
etc. But poetry, snobbish stuff, wants to be filled up with only
the best readers (premium), like a high-class whore. Since filling
up with Premium refers to the gas pump, it leads us to Blake's tiger
(the one that's burning brightly in the forest of the night), because
for many years one of the major oil companies advertised it's gasoline
with "Put a tiger in your tank" (seems a cruel thing to
do to a tiger). "Use American tanks to fill America's tanks"
refers to our current (as I write) war in Iraq, where it seems to
me we are really fighting to procure a supply of oil. A tiger in
every tank and a chicken in every pot (and pot in most chicks as
the war on drugs loses to the war on terrorism).
Last stanza: "Fulgurate" flash quickly like
lightning or caffeine (Fulgur's Instant Coffee).