What A Dump


“What a dump!”—Bette Davis 

“What a dump!”—Elizabeth Taylor

What a dump—
just looking around

All my so-called—
Literary heroes

Kerouac & Ginsberg—
Beatnik l'enfant terrible

Neal Cassidy the stud—
Angelic hipster hustler

The Fifties & Sixties—
I worshipped them

Every novel, poem—
City Lights Enlightment

But that was then—
and this is now

I’m just another—
Jaded Baby Boomer

So much for ON THE ROAD—
and Jack Kerouac’s Fifties

Handsome heroic hoodlum—
car thief braggadocio 

Cowboy cocksman creep—
Gene Audrey look-alike 

Only queer closeted writers—
like Miss Kerouac could fall

For a cheesy con-artist like—
Neal Cassady hip-hustler prick

Who ditched his male lovers—
along the side of the road

Like with Ginsberg & Kerouac—
for his endless cute chicks

Found dead in Mexico—
along some railroad tracks

So much for HOWL and—
Allen Ginsberg’s doomed dharma

So much for Naropa and—
the SF Gay Literary Renaissance

So much for Judy Garland—
and the Stonewall Riots

So much for all the gone—
Gay bookstores & discotheques

So much for that whole gone—
Dead AIDS gay Generation

So much for the beatniks—
Hippies and Slackers today

Welcome to Gay Guignol, honey—
BABY JANE be back in town!!!

“What a fuckin dump!”—
Bitchy Bette Davis smirks

“Your turn, Blanche,” she says—
pushing Joan Crawford’s Wheelchair

Down the fuckin creepy stairs—

No more ratty din-din—
for nagging bitchy Blanche!!!

No time for dreary deary—
Queer Theory Queen Bees

Too late for Marlene Dietrich’s—
Weimar cabaret Swan Song

Tragic GLBT alphabet soup—
too late for that too, honey

Time to strap on your Dildo—
and Sip that Martini, baby

After all, my dears—
Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf?

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