STR8T BOYZ
Everybody knows—
Drag rules the world, baby
Everybody’s got their—
Own darke drag routine
My darke drag routine—
Is str8t boy drag
That’s why I’m talking—
To you, man
STR8T BOYZ DOING DRAG
Can Str8t Boyz do Drag?—
Queried a curious Fag Hag
Well, of course,
honey!!!
I’ll bet you
Money!!!
They wanna get Pegged—
They’ve even begged
Gimme that Dildo!!!
And quick a
Pillow!!!
DETOUR, MY DEAR
“Which reminds me—
I can’t afford to waste
another minute”
—Martin Goldsmith, Detour
I don’t know—
Guyz are funny and
Not just sometimes
A fag can like—
Semaphore every
Signal in the book
Before a guy—
Wakes up & finds the
Cruise is over
Now take Raul…
DOUCHE BAG
“It was a trifle overdone,
in movie parlance”
—Martin Goldsmith, Detour
I was fucking around—
Much too much trying
To be Lady Gaga
You gotta underplay it—
A casting director told me
Don’t overdo it…
I couldn’t help myself—
I kept ending up in hot water
Looking around for the douche
SPIEL UND DRAG
Forget your spiel—
I’ll listen to it but
I know it already
Even before you—
Open your big mouth
On the written page
You’re nothing but a—
White trash tramp so
Skip the make-believe
And don’t give me—
That old line about
Confession’s good for soul
SACRILEGIOUS
C’mon don’t tell me—
You’re just another noir
Badboy femme fatale
Just another piece of—
White trash pulp fiction
Young hustler romance?
C’mon gimme a break—
You’ve gotta be kidding
Nobody will believe me
The Lord may be my—
Shield and comfort but who’s
Gonna publish this crap?
SEATTLE NOIR
“There’s nothing so much—
like one road as another road”
—Martin Goldsmith, Detour
There’s nothing so much—
Like one detour being like
Another, know what I mean?
I had to get going fast—
And keep going, where
It just didn’t matter
Part of me was dead—
Still there in San Francisco
Then I was in Seattle
I felt easier in Seattle—
Hard up or not because
Seattle was so fag noir
SAN FRANCISCO
After a face lift—
And gay brain transplant
Up on Pacific Heights
I got into a brief detour—
Being a fag poet there
At City Lights Bookstore
Not so bad really—
Considering who I was
Running around with
Farewell, My Lovely—
Kiss Me Deadly and
The Long Goodbye Kid
I was ready for it, baby—
Norma Desmond’s Sunset Blvd
Floating there in the pool
SINKING IN THE RAIN
And so here I am—
All those cheesy detours
And divagations later
I try to forget but—
Can’t help wondering who
Might have taken my place
If I hadn’t started—
Letting the muse be there
In my driver’s Seat
If fate or some kind of—
Deal with the Devil hadn’t
Stopped to pick me up
ON WRITING
Writing was like Debate—
It couldn’t he taught like
Math and the Sciences
It was like Acting—
Some people were naturals
At it and others weren’t
MFA Programs—
In creative writing rackets
Are popular now
It used to be—
Only English Departments
Monopolized the muse
LASSIE-FAIRE
Now every ding-bat—
College and university
Claims to be in the know
How do I know—
Whether it’s completely
Lassie-faire or not?
Learning how to type—
Could very well be one’s
Best first shot
My IBM Selectric—
Stuffed in the closet
Can’t give it away
MISS GUTENBERG
Voice recognition—
And handwriting too
Makes for Word enlightenment
E-books and E-mail—
Making writing tres fast
And instantaneous
Even the NYTimes—
Shifting from newspapers
And print culture to
Online composition—
Like university texts
And homework now
KINDLE AND NOOK
Kindle and Nook—
Just the tip of Madame
Moderne’s Learning Curve
She still does longhand—
Writing notes to herself
Lazy mornings in bed
She has this oh so lovely—
Leaning Tower of Pisa books
On her crowded Nightstand
She still has the evil cat—
On her lap as she sips a
Cup of tea in the morning
MISS PROUST
But something has—
Changed with her being
A writer in Seattle
Like Miss Proust—
Trying to remember
Back into the future
Paul Bowles—
Letting the pages
Write themselves
Arthur Rimbaud—
Letting words slide
Surreal bateau ivre
Joseph Cornell—
Streamlining flicks
Rose Hobart flashbacks
No comments:
Post a Comment