LISTENING TO SYD BARRETT WHILE WAITING FOR THE PLUMBER TO ARRIVE

New poem: LISTENING TO SYD BARRETT WHILE WAITING FOR THE PLUMBER.

when the excitement of creation
became nothing more than clock-punching
to create the next psychedelic pop song
that would be acceptable
to both teenagers and radio
he became the rock-and-roll
version of Bartleby The Scrivener
where he would show up at concerts
and mainstream TV shows,
stating "I would prefer not to do this"
maybe he hoped the other band members
could be bent like a Plastic Man doll
but they were as hard as sterling steel
and liked seeing a Technicolor rainbow
and the ability to buy mansions
and cars for any mood of the day
so he wrote a song with a lyric like this:
"thanks for telling me I'm not here"
and something in his subconscious
told him to make his own music--
then, when the muse whispered
goodbye forever,
go back to Cambridge
and create other kinds of art
without the clock-punching
"what will the fans
and the executives think of this"
headaches of 1967

Poem about cover of Pink Floyd's ATOM HEART MOTHER.

ANSWER POEM TO SIMON JACKSON'S "COWS" FROM EKPHRASTIA GONE WILD

[Also inspired by cover of Pink Floyd's ATOM HEART MOTHER:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Atom_Heart_Mother]
(Cow on phone with agent)
What is this with these
allegedly "progressive" record labels?
You told me EMI would pay me two bales of hay,
but only ONE arrived!
>
Okay, I'll pose for the photo
but they're only getting a side view
with my head turned to camera.
One shot only, then I'm through.
>
Hey, while you're at it,
ask Pink Floyd
why they haven't made a good album
since they fired Syd Barrett?
(Cow drops phone to ground in disgust,
sighs loudly and prepares for low-wage immortality)