Mr. Crabbin

Mr. Crabbin

“You’re literary style
does not do your
namesake justice”
—Graham Greene
The Third Man

Then there’s Mr. Crabbin—
Ditzy representative of the
British Cultural Relations
Society and Lectures

Holly was to give a lecture—
“Techniques of the Contemporary
Novel” for the Innsbruck and
Salzburg Literary Program

Holly Martin the famous—
Western pulp fiction writer
Giving Greene the chance
To dish writers and writing

Holly’s brand of fiction—
Kitchy, full of schmaltzy
Plots in a vague, sloppy
Sentimental way like sex

Strictly amateur compared—
With Benjamin Dexter or
Henry James a stylist so
Subtle, complex, old-maidish

Calloway the Investigator—
Shook his head amazed
Sometimes the amateur much
Better than the professional

Two Viennese Queens

Two Viennese Queens

The two Viennese queens—
Baron Kurtz and Doktor Winkler
Live together in an elegant
Apartment next to the Wheel

The Oklahoma Kid—
Baron Kurtz clutches to his
Breast in the outdoor café
Where Holly & he have a date

The little chihuahua—
Baron Kurtz has tucked
Under his topcoat peeks
Its ratty little head out

The same ratty dog—
Lives there in the apartment
With both Kurtz and Winkler
A nice fag married couple

Doktor Winkler is cryptic—
Surrounded by religious
Antiques, crucifixes and
Assorted Jansenist junk

Baron Kurtz and Dr. Winkler—
Hide the fact they’re a couple
Of decadent Euro-Queen Bees

Holly Martin isn’t dumb—
Not when it comes to certain
Things like closet-case fags
He smells a big fat rat

Who Is the Real Third Man


“He was the Harry Lime
of the literary racket”
—Michael Shelden,
Graham Greene: The
Enemy Within

The world according to Graham Greene—
Is a world full of tragedy and it can’t be
Taken entirely by trusting anybody

Part of the film noir mystery game—
Of reading a Graham Greene novel or
Seeing a film adaptation is following leads

Taking the time to be naïve and letting—
The false leads take one down various
Detours that every detective travels

Holly Martin played by Joseph Cotton—
Is especially vulnerable since he’s a
Pulp fiction writer who lives his fiction

Holly ends up in Vienna at the invitation—
Of his boyhood buddy Harry Slime who he
Venerates and worshipped back in school

At first Holly seems to see postwar Vienna—
And the supposed death of Harry more along
The lines of a naïve “The Oklahoma Kid”

Himself as “The Lone Rider of Santa Fe”—
In a small Western town shoot-em-up kind
Of pulp fiction novel like he writes back home

But Vienna is much more old and decadent—
Much more evil and sophisticated even though
Bombed-out and in ruins than he thinks at first

It’s like a Henry James scenario with the naïve—
Young Americans abroad taking the European tour
And ending up getting had by the Living Dead

The penicillin racket of Harry Lime and Company—
Is just the tip of the tacky rotten evil iceberg tho
But pretty soon Holly wises up fast thanks to events

The endless camera shots of ruined Vienna—
End up revealing how much more evil the wages
Of war can be, taking whole cities into the gutter

No wonder Harry hangs out and ends up dead—
Down there in the twisting, labyrinthine sewers of
Once elegant and cloyingly beautiful great Vienna

The real Third Man is more than just Harry Lime—
The slime-bag of the black market dope racket
That the plot of the novella revolves around

The real Third Man is the refined auteur and—
Catty author Graham Greene himself: the coy
Slime-bag of the literary racket his “sewer”

There’s a reason why “The Third Man” won—
First prize at the Cannes Film Festival and
Enjoyed such success at the movie box office

Greene plays with our film noir imagination—
Seduces us into the mind of Alida Valli who
Loves Harry no matter what he’s done

Greene is the Third Man who sucks us down—
Into the stinking sewers not only of bombed-out
Vienna but even deeper down into ourselves

The Third Man has qualities of being a pulp-fiction—
Naïve hack Western writer like we all are actually
No different than “The Lone Rider of Santa Fe”

The Third Man is a parody of old-fashioned—
Westerns like “The Oklahoma Kid” so cherished
By the fag Herr Kurtz who simply adores it

But it’s all just a fake act to seduce and divert—
Holly Martin off the detective trail of investigating
What really happened to his buddy Harry Slime

The Third Man is a satire on naïve Americans—
The same as Pinky or Rowe in Ministry of Fear
All “The Ugly Americans” taking over the world

Knowing that is to know who the real—
Third Man actually is: it’s us, of course, but
Then film noir’s message is rather tawdry now

When a film genre dies, whether its dark—
Film noir like “The Third Man” or Grande Dame Guignol like “What Ever Happened to Baby Jane” 

Another Third Man will soon materialize—
Someone or something that we won’t recognize
Until it’s too late and then it’s Fag Noir, honey

Casanova Nightclub

Casanova Nightclub

Later on Holly meets—
Some other nefarious
Characters of Harry’s
Little Racketeer club

Kurt plays a weepy—
Violin serenading a fat
Lovely Brünnhilde there
In the Casanova Nightclub

She slurps her soup—
Loudly, her plump jowls
Oblivious to Kurt’s violin
Yet she tips him generously

Meanwhile Cooler chats—
The usual cover-up of
What really happened to
Harry that tragic day

The tight little club—
Of Viennese racketeers
Circle their wagons just like
“The Lone Rider of Santa Fe”

The Oklahoma Kid

The Oklahoma Kid

“Kurtz fascinated him —
characters who shared
the name in The Third Man
and Heart of Darkness”
— Michael Shelden,
Graham Green, The
Enemy Within

What better place—
Than ruined bombed-out
Vienna to play the old
Heart of Darkness game?

Kurtz goes crazy—
Deep in rotting Africa but
Vienna also is one of the
Dark places of earth

Herr Kurtz meets Holly—
In the outdoor café with
His copy of Holly’s pulp
Fiction “The Oklahoma Kid”

Herr Kurtz’s toupee—
It makes Holly dislike
Him at first sight right
Away at their rendezvous

It keeps slipping off—
Like Akim Tamiroff’s
Greasy little tacky wig
In “Touch of Evil”

There’s something —
Phony about a man
Who just can’t accept
His baldness gracefully

It’s flat and yellow—
Cheap and ill-fitting
Clinging to his bald
Head like a ratty rug

The Third Man


What happens when —
A film genre dies off and
Finally kicks the Proverbial
Hollywood Bucket?

Pick a Hollywood —
Classic outta the Forties
By 1949 the Film Noir
Genre gets rather tawdry

Tawdry, worn-out —
Ripe for a Revisionist
Remake along the lines
Of campy “Sunset Blvd”


When one queen 
Reads the beads of another
It’s called comeuppance, honey
Such a dishy denouement!

When one queers —
An already quite queer
Movie like “Whatever Happened
To Baby Jane” then what?

You get a drag version —
Of an already campy
Film noir flick like
Faggy “Baby Jane”

Like Billy Cliff’s version —
Of Robert Aldrich’s
Classic thriller of
Grande Dame Guignol

Instead of Bette Davis —
Joan Crawford, Victor Bruno
Eating up the old scenery
We get drag queens instead

Same two twisted sisters —
In their own self-made hell
But with some unexpected
Faggy twists & turns, my dear

The audience ends up —
Asking “Who’s coming for
Din din?” in a rather new
Fag noir genre way…

Instead of Bette Davis —
It’s time for Mathew Martin
To do a new tres trashy
Version of “Baby Jane!”

Instead of dreary-dearie —
Poor Joan Crawford up
There in the Attic in her
Tacky old wheelchair

We end up with a new —
Cabaret burlesque show
Swansong to an aging
Geriatric Guignol Genre

When a film genre dies —
It’s swansong time, honey
Like Marlene Dietrich in
“Blue Angel,” my dears

When a film genre dies —
Like Marlene’s “Blonde Venus”
Her cabaret Weimar goodbye
“I just can’t help it, honey”

The same with Orson Welles —
His swan song to film noir
The end of a genre and era
His  louche “Touch of Evil”

Redoing “Citizen Kane” —
Like Billy Clift transmogrifying
And subverting “Baby Jane”
Down in the sewers of Vienna

Instead of Bette Davis —
It’s Faggy Miss Joseph Cotton
Caught up in a gay postwar
Aging decrepit film noir flick

What happens when Welles—
Exiled by RKO to Europe makes
Plans for her big come-back
Like Norma Desmond did?

You end up with a loser —
Like “Touch of Evil,” honey
Miss Welles just simply couldn’t
Help it, she loved Swan Songs

There’s Zsa Zsa Gabor —
As well as Marlene Dietrich
There’s even Mexican Queen Bee
Decadent Miss Akim Tamiroff

Faux Tijuana mise-en-scene—
A hoodlum spic gang led by that
Motorcycle bull dyke lesbian
Butchy Mercedes McCambridge

Nervous nelly Dennis Weaver—
As the No Tell Motel night clerk
Gimpy out there in the sticks
Crazy with icky facial ticks

It’s Goodbye Film Noir, baby—
Welcome campy new Fag Noir
Orson Welles just like Dietrich
She just couldn’t help it, dearies

Those same high overhead —
Camera takes of “Citizen Cane”
Zooming over the dingy streets
Border towns so cheap & tacky

Those garish flashing neon lights—
No escape for bug-eyed Tamiroff
Orson Welles is out to get her
To cover-up his Mexican tracks

Gets strangled to death, honey —
With one of Janet Leigh‘s nylons
While trying to claw his way out……
Losing his droopy toupee instead

When a film genre dies —
There’s always a classic flick
Commemorating the DEMISE
With one last gay Swansong

There’s always one last —
Gasp remake of a dying Genre
Like silly “Bud Abbott and Lou
Costello Meeting Guess Who?”

Whether it’s Miss Dracula —
Frankenstein or Wolf Man
Lon Chaney or Bela Lugosi
Or that stuffy Basil Rathbone

There’s still this Death-Rattle —
Sickening Swan Song to a once
Great-filmic Hollywood genre…
A dead Matinee Bijou Oeuvre

“The Third Man” (1949) ends —
With the melodramatic demise
Of slime-bag Harry Lime down
There in the stinking Sewers

That’s where all of us —
Are gonna end up, honey
Whether we like it or not
We simply just can’t help it...

There’s no happy ending —
Cornell Woolwich said it all:
“At first you dream, honey,
And then you die.”

The Fag Hag of Capri

The Fag Hag of Capri

“In human relationships,
kindness and lies are worth
a thousand truths.”
—Graham Greene

One never knows my dear —
When a helpful Fag Hag
Can turn out to be a Godsend
Angel to the Rescue!!!

A carefree caprice there—
On the Isle of Capri needs
The help of the fair sex when
It comes to rendezvous time

There was an old fag of Capri—
Who cast a lecherous eye on me
He said “Oh, my dear!”
You shan’t shed a tear
And afterwards we had our tea

It was Norman Thomas, me dear—
That drew me to Anacapri with her
Novel “South Wind” with its
Moody open gay sensuality

There was an old queen of Stamboul—
With a varicose vein in her tool
In attempting to come
Up a sailor boy’s bum
It popped, and she fainted away

Although fag hags can be—
Overbearing and indiscreet
I needed her services some
Getting Italian boys for fun

There in my Villa Rossaio—
With its view of the Bay of Naples
Its bougainvillea arbor and
Private garden world all mine

Away from the tourist crowds—
On the other side of busy Capri
Where I could live in my villa with
Its lovely forbidden pleasures

Douglas’ doctor back then—
Elizabeth Moor the Dottoressa
Entertained Douglas and me
As the Fag Hag Queen of Capri

Graham Greene


"He was the Harry Lime
of the literary racket.”
— Michael Sheldon,
Graham Greene: The Enemy Within

One of the more seminal —
Book discussions from back
In the NYTimes days was
“The Third Man” soiree

Orson Welles played noir —
Cold War Harry Lime
A black-market drug dealer
Extraordinaire character

A screenplay collaboration —
Between Greene & Carol Reed
About depressing postwar
Viennese Weltschmerz

Joseph Colton played the —
Pulp fiction western writer
With Alida Valli as the sad
Tragedienne actress Lover

Filmed in 1949 —
Halfway between infamous
Bankrupt RKO Studio
“Citizen Kane” (1941)

And “Touch of Evil” (1958) —
Greene’s novel flowing like
Expensive slow gin down the
Back of your thirsty throat

Accompanied by maddening —
Irritating nervous Zither music by
Anton Karas constantly there
Slithering in the background

The ironic thing was that —
During our book discussion
Led by erudite Whiskey Priest
Lovely Alida Valli passed away


The Leopard Man



The Leopard Man
The Cemetery Scene
Kiss of The Panther Woman
Expert Witness
Magic Realism

The Leopard Man

Killer Mexican film noir —
The perfect ode de cologne
The sweet scent of death

Scary Val Lewton —
Creepy Jacques Tourneur
RKO Femme fatales of film!!!

Clicking Castanets —
Cemeteries late at night
Death in the Dead of Night

Dark Forties Suspense —
Endless Sinister Suspicions
Who’s gonna get it next?    

The Cemetery Scene

The best scene —
In the whole scary movie
Some queens think

The jilted young lover —
Stood up by her boyfriend
Stuck with all the dead stiffs

Locked in the cemetery —
Darkness creeping into the
Deepening deadly denouement

Gaunt Graveyard Statues —
Leering down at the poor thing
Waiting for the stealthy Killer

Kiss of The Panther Woman

Stalked by the fiendish —
Black Panther of Death
No girl is safe, honey

But not everything —
Tiptoeing on cat’s feet is
A little innocent Kitty-cat

Defenseless cuties —
Are tres Vulnerable as
Killers prowl the night

Half the Thrill —
Being a Killer at night
Your Stalking noir footsteps

Expert Witness

What makes a Witness —
Expert while testifying
At a Murder Trial?

The erudite, all-knowing —
Dr. Galbraith played by James
Bell in The Leopard Man?

How calm cerebral —
The pipe-smoking professor
Of the local Museum?

The least one you’d —
Suspect as a Killer yet so
Knowingly cold-bloodied

Magic Realism

Just ask Miss Marquez —
That primal noir image:
Blood flowing under the door

The Unseen Murder —
The scream behind the bolted
Locked door, then the Blood

The thud of the thug —
The young daughter sliced
And diced so horribly bloody

The Unseen Murder —
Hidden from Us Viewers
There on the Other Side




I Walked with a Zombie
Zombie Badboyz
Darby Jones
Drums in the Night

I Walked With A Zombie 

I lived with a whole town 
Of Living Dead Kansas Zombies
It was worse than LA Zombieville

Night of the Living Dead —
Just a tacky, trashy reminder
Of the Living Dead in Kansas

Especially the tall handsome —
Naked Zombie Boyz there in
The cane fields at night

Hoodoo Voodoo drums —
The heartbeat of the Living Dead
Beating them off in the moonlight

Zombie Badboyz

Jacques Tourneur’s —
Queen Bee Horror classic
Still so chillingly Sexy

Poor Sandra Dee sucked —
Into Cumly Carib Film Noir
Just like Innocent me

Hoodoo Voodoo in Kansas —
Pretty much the same thing
Ever sucked a zombie off?

Darby Jones

Hear those beating, throbbing —
Voodoo drums tonight, honey?
I know I once did, my dear. . .

The Moon high overhead —
The twisting tall Canefield path
The crossroads guarding secrets

Voodoo ceremonies late at night —
But first I had to pass the test
Going down on Darby Jones

So tall, hung and handsome —
The whites of his upturned eyes
Placating his Living Dead Penis

Drums In The Night

Voodoo drums beating —
African gods dancing haughtily
In both Haiti & Kansas too!!!

Up there in the balcony —
In the Granada’s “Nigger Heaven”
Doing the hot zombies, honey

My knees stuck to the —
Sticky Pepsi Cola floor
Getting reamed inside-out

I was nothing but —
A no-good little Emporia
Slut of the Voodoo Night!!!




Ding Dong Blues
The Bird Bridge
Murder Ordained
Praise the Lord
Dead Ringer
Trashy Hollywood

Ding Dong Blues

A sure sign —
Of the changing times
When Hostess Twinkies
Gets outta town!!!

Time moves on —
Even though I got the
Ding Dong Blues
But what can you do?

Bankruptcies and —
Liquidations across
This fair land of
American opportunity?

Will Emporia end up —
Like dead decaying
Modern day Detroit
Ghost Town USA?

The Bird Bridge

Down from up there —
The Sunken Gardens on
Twelfth Avenue where cute
College boys smooch

Past The Granada Theater —
Down along Commercial
All the way to Sixth Avenue
Running East and West

All the way down —
Past the Santa Fe and
Burlington Tracks
Steel rails in the night

Down to Sodom’s Grove —
Cottonwood River Bridge
Follow the country road
Down to The Bird Bridge

Murder Ordained

A new updated version —
A made-for-TV gothic
Neo-noir flick shocking the
Small town Emporians

What could be worse —
For The Religious Right
Than a Lutheran minister
Killing his lovely Wife?

Bashing her head in —
Throwing her off some
Rickety old country bridge
Down into The River?

Praise the Lord

Smashing her head in —
Her bloody fingers clutching
The old bridge railing before
Falling down into The Drink?

Let us Praise the Lord!!! —
Sing Hymns to Matrimony!!!
The worst Kansas Killers are

An Adulterous Adam —
In a Kansas Garden of Eve
Killing his own Wife with a
Cheap Bottle of Jacques Bonet

Dead Ringer

Lorna Anderson returns home —
After serving time in the Big House
For murdering her poor husband
Religious Emporia simply shocked!!!

In this new louche Hollywood —
Made-for-TV remake of the tragic
Original murder there in lovely
God-fearing Bible Belt Emporia

“What a fucking dump!” —
Exclaims Bette Davis exhumed
From the grave especially to play
Killer Lorna Anderson again

Trashy Hollywood

Joan Crawford plays —
Poor cripple Reverend Bird
Stuck in a wheelchair up
There in the lonely Attic

In this Cabaret version —
Of “Dead Ringer” in Drag
The Granada gets to do
Grande Dame Guignol!!!

A Kansas Burlesque —
That says it all and more
A Lutheran Minister in drag
Lorna as Dyke Transvestite!!!