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The only emperor is the emperor of ice-cream.
-- Wallace Stevens
Call me weird, call me strange, but this year
I will gaze at Duchamp's ready-mades
And the targets and flags of Jasper Johns.
I will think in a suit like Wallace Stevens,
Of 'Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Blackbird,'
And of the jar he placed in Tennessee.
Call me weird, call me strange, but this year
I will lie with Proust in a cork-lined room,
Find what he hid in his hawthorns in bloom.
I will sit with Joyce and sip some tea,
Read 'Finnegans Wake' with its 'tip, tip, tip,'
Watch a 'man in the macintosh' stare back at me.
Call me weird, call me strange, but I will see
With a few pairs of eyes, even Ahab's,
Searching and searching for the whitest in white.
And sipping some tea after rest by the sea,
I will cling like Rilke to the cliffs of Duino,
Terrified and free with his angels and elegies.
Call me weird, call me strange, but this year
I will walk with Whitman on the winter solstice,
Singing
With Margo and John, munching macaroons.
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