And Allen Ginsberg Is Mopping Up In Aisle Ninei

And Allen Ginsberg Is Mopping Up In Aisle Nine

I been waxing poetic over you,
when I should have been waxing the floor.
Not no more, baby. Not no more.
Got no more time for rhymes,
(but I got some in mind).
Don't want no bee in my bonnet over no sonnet.
I got aisles to go before I sweep
and you know they love to watch me lap the aisles.
Swear I'm gonna change, baby.
Ain't gonna be chasing you around for no sextain.
I got enough words for us.
Got me a rhyming dictionary and a brand new thesaurus.
Hey, I know I could use a good lai, but I can't stop,
I got to mop this place.
Ain't nobody gonna save my assets if it ain't done.
Aye, that's the scrub.
What we got here is a pile of broken glass and foam
no time for poems.
And what I need, baby, what I need is an annuity,
not ambiguity.
I know. I know, baby;
Ambiguity celebrates the pleasures of doubt,
but not outta my mouth.
I can't sustain no quatrain,
no meter,
no rhyme.
Ain't got no time. No time.
You want to see poetry in motion, baby?
I'll show you poetry in motion.
Just give me some room and hand me a broom.
There's poetry enough all over this place:
poets in the produce,
rhymes in the check-out line,
sonnets in the soda,
lyrics in the syrup,
ballads in the bakery,
fresh couplets hanging in the deli.
(Now, there's a bunch of boloney.)
And someone's always bagging the free verse.
I know the story -- memento mori.
You think I don't know that baby?
You think I don't know?
Look at me.
What you see?
Some pentameter janitor?
Not no more, baby. Not no more.
The only verse worth anything is up your skirt, baby
and you know my pen is ready.