For Thomas Pynchon

For Thomas Pynchon

Wasted tendrils underneath the small rain,

Laugh at the coming storm,

To wash away tears of ubiquitous abreaction,

And all those standing, eating banana after banana,

And searching for Victoria, a giant rat

In the sewers of misrepresentation

Gently wash all the underground games away.

But Blistero and Pirate’s need for weed,

And the adenoidal shift in deconstructionism

Of the killing of the Dodo, these reveal the pain

Of a creative artist, or a pauper,

All in all, everyone has a culture,

Mrs Quad has a juicy candy for your salivation,

While the orchestral plays in poetic rhythm

With the intellectual heart