I Am the Pusher Man

I am a pusher of purloined polemics
Culled from walls of only five star latrines.
Incantations craved by spent academics
Who pay gladly for the glories I’ve gleaned.

My notebooks are swelled with assorted conceits
Kernels extracted from improbable shells.
Scribbles of minor league prophets and saints,
Refined into sweet poppy zest that I sell.

Brilliancies plucked from obscure garbage heaps.
Singular sparks struck by laborers unsung.
Like rainbows that lurk in anonymous deep
But for one glittering leap ‘cross the sun.

On corners of ivy, I prowl through the night.
From deep shadows coo a beckoning air.
To corduroy cowboys whose spurs lost all bite:
“Hey man, got uncut ideations o’er here.”

From halls that are hallowed, the laureates alight.
Somnambulists drawn to my pied piper’s sound.
Classicists who’ve lost their keys to insight
Lust for fixes into Prometheus Bound.

The emeritus of physics whose orbit’s decayed.
Deans of finance holding futures now shrunk.
The swollen prostate savage sage.
Poets whose words clang with discordant clunks.

Hope is the foundling at desperation’s breast.
The object of most piteous prayers.
And I am the answer who floats on the dust.
Purveying potions to quell fevers and fears.