I’m not an iceblock. I’m not a teardrop,
mooching around your Long Island Iced Tea.
I’m not chasing dreams, dreaming of Jeannie;
I’m not slowing for one more whistle stop.
I’ve never bridged sighs, I don’t island hop;
I’ve not tasted the free airs of Heaney,
nor held a heart that, like some Houdini,
didn’t vanish with a barbaric yawp.
I have set no flame in a lover’s hearth
that didn’t burn the whole shantytown down.
By night, I am king; in morning, uncrowned-
I walk in as Luke and storm out as Darth.
Rivers are rivers, regardless of flow:
O, stone, be not so; O, stone, be not so.