I thought I was censored, my entire oeuvre suppressed.
By New York. I just didn't write what they wanted.
They didn't deny me a career. Who was I? A flea with a hard-on,
hollering, "Raise the bridge." I inflated my own importance.
I was too big for my britches. Life has a way of bringing a person
down to size. Adjusting the fit. You fit them. They don't fit you.
I knew a cable splicer who called 151° British Navy rum "I fit one."