Fiction Class (cont)
Why are the famous
writers often crazy?
Crazed? Cracked? Glass ceiling
fragmented into 10,000 fine lines
of leisure lesion letting in aliens
& outside noetic birds of paradise
flying round looking to roost &
brood & don’t they fly right by
you and me: whole and hale and
sealed-in against intrusion and
any immaculate conception not
by the hairs of my chinny chin chins.
But these famous righters are crack-
ups, compulsive, obsessive, bound
back to some source beyond them
god damnit, listening to the muse
as Barbara McClintock said: “I lean
in listening to the corn shoots and
THAT’s how I got my Nobel
Prize in genius in genetics.”
Obedience.
Cracked. Crazy—who’d ever talk
that kind of talk: she must be kidding:
putting me on and who does she think
she is!
Famous riders and un-famous say:
I don’t know where my novel is going
because my characters haven’t told me
yet.
“Oh, that’s cute—
who does he think
he is talking like that!”
On the edge, yes? Of course they are.
Cutting edge for crying out loud.
It hurts. They suffer it or they
don’t. Insurance executives
go crazy. too And Doctors.
Lawyers. Indian Chiefs.
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