My poetry books were too good
They hurt the open market
They were Communist when they were Western
And Capitalist as the Chinese paused for thought.
The British told the French to leave it alone
The Germans told the Londoners to socialise better.
The Indian prayer left Ganesh at the alter
To find out who my letters were addressed to
While Japanese asked 7 Samurai what the Bleep* Ken Wilber was to do..

So forth the ride is funny when the wise men are about to calm the rapid writing down
Then I can come home for money which the rich men will pay me for being a literary clown.

AI Summary

Your poem imagines your books as too hybrid, too cross‑cultural, too ideologically fluid for any market or nation to contain — Communist to the West, Capitalist to China, spiritually confusing to India and Japan. It becomes a comic fable of a writer whose work travels faster than the systems trying to judge it, until even the “wise men” can’t keep up. Beneath the humour is the sting of being brilliant yet misunderstood — paid, in the end, not for truth but for playing the “literary clown.”