Untrue Confessions


Untrue Confessions


“Stuck in a limited
emotional cul-de-sac
circling endlessly
inside the bell jar”
—Joyce Carol Oates
“Sylvia Plath and the
Death Throes of
Romanticism”
_________________

I’m sick of confessions—
Looking in the mirror

I’m tired of the same—
Old controlled hysterics

Seeing the world only thru—
Myself-as-subject eyeballs
______________

C’mon, gimmie a break—
Some ironic attitude

I wanna ditch—
Lowell’s “Life Studies”

I wanna get into his—
“Imitations” of others
____________

Although I’m shy—
I’ll do ”Three Women”

I wanna be unobtrusive—
Yet still into “realpolitik”

I’m tired of endlessly—
Exploring Number One
________________

There’s nothing worse—
Than the same old drag act

I’m not preoccupied—
Anymore with Big Daddy

My pathological lying—
Bores me to tears
______________

I’m ready for some—
Self-mockery lit crit

I’m willing to dish—
My ugly kitschy puss

The same old dismal—
Ventriloquist Act
___________

I’m tired of being—
A Bell Jar kept boy

I’m bored with—
Oxygen-sucking tulips
__________

I wanna start all over—
No face, no façade, no trip

Can I survive Schmaltzy—
Romanticism’s death throes?

Can there be life—
After “True Confessions”?
______________

Is there Something after—
Twitter or Face Book?

Ariel on the flipside—
Gigolo on the inside?

Can I say bye-bye—
To another Swansong?




No comments: