MYSTERIOUS SKIN JOB

_________________

Mysterious Skin

Missing Time

Alien Romance

Fucking Angel

Ready or Not

Partners in Crime

The Black Hole

Playing Hard to Get

Godzilla Guyz

Bomba Bad Boyz

My Slutty Sister

_______________

Mysterious Skin (2004)

"Two boys. One can't

remember. The other

can't forget.”—Scott Heim

Mysterious Skin byline

_______________________

I thought I’d been abducted—

By strange Aliens in the night 

I couldn’t remember anything—

Except that I was in love

Ronnie was a UFO—

And Unidentified Fuck Object

He fucked me in the Mouth—

All night long and then

When he got tired of that—

He got me in the Other End

___________________

Missing Time

“I can't believe

I'm finally getting

out of this fucking

nowhere town!”
—Scott Heim

Mysterious Skin

I couldn’t believe it—

That it happened to me

I was finally getting—

Outta fuckin Shitville

When I fell in love—

That’s what happened

When you fall in love—

You fall outta Time

And that’s when—

Missing Time begins

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Alien Romance

“I'm corrupting you.

Finally”—Scott Heim,

Mysterious Skin

I  really didn’t know who—

Who was corrupting who

But in the end we were—

Both totally corrupted

Cute cocky Ronnie Slime—

And slimy little me Miss Thing

All I know is it was simply—

“The Day the World Stood Still”

When I saw him in the Nude—

It be “Klaatu Barada Nikto”!!!

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Fucking Angel

“You called me your

fucking angel…incognito

boy scout?”—Scott Heim

Mysterious Skin

I just simply couldn’t help it—

Falling for a fucking angel

I got weak in the knees—

In Seventh Grade Gym Class

We were Basket Boys—

We took our showers early

Then we’d give the baskets—

Out to the young sweaty mob

Mr. Bow-Wow the Coach—

Queer as a Three Dollar Bill

__________________

Ready or Not

“Are you ready?

Here we go.” 
 —Scott Heim

Mysterious Skin

I simply wasn’t ready—

For the End of the World

The End of Shitville—

And everything I knew

How was I to know—

That Ronnie was so Hung

It wasn’t very Pretty—

Made me weak in my knees

The Gawd Awful Thing—

From Another World!!!

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Partners in Crime

“If I wasn't queer we would

have ended up having sloppy

teenage sex and getting pregnant,

contributing more fucked-up

unwanted kids to society. But

instead, he became my soulmate.

And... one true partner in crime.” 
—Scott Heim, Mysterious Skin

Lucky I wasn’t a girl—

Even though I felt like one

I had slutty White Trash lips—

And a dirty Trailer Trash mind

I followed him home from school—

Like a fuckin dog famished for it

Getting him two or three times—

Watching American Bandstand

He liked all the pretty petite—

Fuckable Annette Funicello Chicks

__________________

The Black Hole

“Trust me. Where

normal people have

 a heart, Neil McCormick

has a bottomless black hole.

And if you don't watch

out, you can fall in and

get lost forever.” 
—Scott Heim,

Mysterious Skin

Ronnie really sucked me in—

Even tho I really sucked him off

I fell for him hook, line & sinker—

He was such a mean nasty stinker

He had a pretty Peyton Place Prick—

That simply just wouldn’t quit

His older brother was a Dealer—

We were stoned all the time

Their parents were divorced so—

Lots of Coors in the Refrigerator!!!

___________________

Playing Hard to Get

“You don't have to tell me,

I was infatuated with him

too once. But I know all

Neil's secrets and there's

shit there you don't even

want to know about.”

—Scott Heim, Mysterious Skin

I just simply couldn’t help it—

Getting all that “Love Me Tender”

Squirts, Shots, Wads of it—

Slimy, Quivering Loads of Love

Lovely Facials all over my Puss—

Up my Nose & Between my Eyes

I was Addicted to Ronnie’s Love—

He started playing Hard to Get

The more he played Hard to Get—

The more Desperate for it I got

____________________

Godzilla Guyz

“So I just stayed silent

and trying to telepathically

communicate how sorry

I was about what had

happened. And I thought

of all the grief and sadness

and fucked up suffering in

the world, and it made

me want to escape.”

—Scott Heim, Mysterious Skin

Most guys are Telepathic—

But they just don’t know it

The most well-endowed guys—

Have big Clairvoyant Cocks

A sensitive Cocksucker like me—

Is always having Communion

With the cumly Cocky Big Ones—

The Ones that really need it

Ronnie would just simply shrug—

When I cruised other Godzillas

_____________________

 

Bomba Bad Boyz

“I hate it when they

look like Tarzan but

sound like Jane.”

—Scott Heim

Mysterious Skin

Not all the guyz with big ones—

Were Butchy in bed with me

Some couldn’t wait to flip over—

On their hard stomachs for me

There were a lot of Bomba Boys—

Built like Johnny Sheffield though

And lots of Acquanetta chicks—

Playing sexy hot Leopard Woman

Maria Montez had the hots for—

Any Cobra walking around on 2 legs

___________________

 

My Slutty Sister

“Okay’s a relative term”

—Scott Heim, Mysterious Skin

Pretty soon I got used to it—

Being married to a young Alien

It lasted thru Blowjob Junior High—

All the way thru Fuck Me High School

Nobody ever noticed very much—

Me floating off the ground an inch

It was a Natural High from a simply—

Unnatural Get-Down Gutter-Guy Low

Eventually Ronnie ditched me dirty—

Getting married to my Slutty Sister

THE OTHER PLATH

________________________

The Other Plath

Daddy

Ruby Red

My Mother

Boy in Fog

Moors Mannequins

Totem

Taboo

Boyhood

Paralyzed

Inquest

Edge

____________________

The Other Plath

“You are the one”

—Sylvia Plath

“Nick and the Candlestick,”

Ariel

Young Nicholas—

The other Plath

The Peter Pan Boy—

Ariel’s young Viceroy

Sylvia’s young son—

The other Hughes

The other Plath—

Who’d figure it out

The one who knew—

Flying the coop

Sick of the—

Yorkshire Killer

Daddy

“a stake in your

fat black heart”

—Sylvia Plath

“Daddy,” Ariel

Birthday Letters—

Imagining her body

Head in the oven—

Feet on the floor

Rewriting the poetry—

Revising her Ariel

Turning her readers—

Into peanut eaters

Draining her royalties—

Milking her Estate

Ted selling Sylvia—

On the cheap

Selling all her poetry—

As lifeless souvenirs

Making a mint from—

Emory buying it all

Selling her suicide—

Her stitches & sutures too

Ruby Red

“ruby the pain”

—Sylvia Plath

“Daddy,” Ariel

I’m Sylvia’s son—

My light burns blue

She died of boredom—

That’s what poets do

But that’s just a lie—

Poets die like you & me

Sometimes victims—

Of murder most foul

I was the baby boy—

Born in the barn

Sylvia’s divine child—

Jesus in the manger

I gulped for air—

How did I end up here?

Without the Star above—

And the Wise Men below?

_________________

Mommy Dearest

“the language obscene”

—Sylvia Plath

“Daddy,” Ariel

My father was going—

To kill her again & again

That’s what they told me—

That’s what Ted did

Every year or so—

He’d do it to her again

Trying to get even—

For what she said and did

Sometimes monthly—

Sometimes yearly

He practiced at it—

Murdering my mother

Doing it with words—

Digging her up again

Resurrecting her for—

A repeat performance

Boy in Fog

“I disappoint them”

—Sylvia Plath

“Sheep in Fog,” Ariel

The moors slip off—

Into moody darkness

My father Ted Hughes—

Regards me sadly

He sees Sylvia—

In my eyes and face

Then he looks away—

His face ashamed

How does a father—

Tell his only son

That dark waters—

Run deep thru heaven

_____________________

Moors Mannequins

“Voicelessness”

—Sylvia Plath

“The Munich Mannequins,”

Ariel

The Yew Trees—

In St. Peter’s Cemetery

Blow in the wind—

Like underwater Hydras

Murder is terrible—

Especially for the children

The absolute sacrifice—

It means no more idols

What does a son do—

Listening to a conversation

When he hears the dialog—

Black Phone off the hook

Listening, listening—

His mother’s dead voice

_____________

Totem

“a counterfeit snake”

—Sylvia Plath

“Totem,” Ariel

Running away is useless—

Alaska isn’t far enough

The past is killing me—

How can I ever forget

Ted tried to hide it—

From me and my sister

His constant spiel—

They must never ever know

It would surely do them in—

If they ever found out the truth

His own guilt hunched—

Over the evil Black Telephone

Sorry Wrong Number—

But he keeps on listening

The guilt of murder—

Who’s that on the other end?

_________________

Taboo

“seeing is useless”

—Sylvia Plath

“Totem,” Ariel

I was the aborted baby—

Beheaded, embalmed in spice

Flayed of fur & my future—

Gutted like a dead rabbit

My eyes, my teeth, my face—

The same as Sylvia Plath

I was the other Plath—

The Plath that got away

The Hughes gang heavies—

Bunch of Yorkshire hoodlums

Surely they felt endangered—

If I ever found out the truth

How could I not find out—

The gossip, the libbers, the dykes

So I fled to Alaska in America-

To get away from Ted & Company

________________

Boyhood

“the zoo of the new”

—Sylvia Plath

“Child,” Ariel

I started off with clear eyes—

Filled with color and ducks

That was way back when—

When the zoo was new

Regent’s Zoo in London—

Not far from Fitzroy Road

The timber wolves howling—

Late into the London night

They stalked their cages—

Like my wolfish father did

It could have been—

So much more different

Not troublous and dark—

The moody monstrous moors

_____________________

Paralyzed

“it happens”

—Sylvia Plath

“Paralytic,” Ariel

Well, it happens—

But really so what?

Life is just a douchebag—

What else is new?

Deaths, murders—

We want them anonymous

Funerals say goodbye for us—

But still the dead aren’t dead

Their mouths are full of—

Shiny Black Lagoon pearls

Their ruby lips whisper—

On the Black Telephone

I cannot hear them—

I cannot hear my mother

I can imagine her though—

Fingering her forehead bruise

___________________

Inquest

“the spot,

dull purple”

—Sylvia Plath

“Contusion,” Ariel

Everybody could see it—

That’s what they said

The dull purple bruise—

Contusion on her temple

She must have fallen—

Hurt herself somehow

Surely not the big—

Heavy glass ashtray

Smashing up against—

The side of her forehead

After she burnt the letter—

Saying she wanted a divorce

Her husband flipping out—

Ted hitting her hard

Knocking her out—

Then stuffing her in

_________________

Edge

“crackle and drag”

—Sylvia Plath

“Edge,” Ariel

Ted Hughes perfected—

And getting away with it

Smirking with innocence—

Playing the abused husband

Quite an accomplishment—

But really not that difficult

Men have been doing—

The same thing a long time

Blaming the victim for it—

Whether abuse or suicide

Sylvia was just a fruitcake—

It’s over, time to move on

Time to start making money—

Getting the Plath business going

Bleeding her blood-jet dry—

Milking the Estate’s royalties

Living off Sylvia’s dead genius—

Making a mint off the bitch

Court Green a cottage industry—

Playing the cards just right

Sidestepping Miss Larkin—

And brown-nosing the Queen

Even though her Highness—

Is used to such things

PLATH-BRONTË II

________________

Garden Scene

Dead Lover

Assia

Ted

The Rabbit Catcher

The Daffodil’s Daughter

The Daffodil Dead

The Times Are Dirty

The Painter: Francis Bacon

Flute Notes

_________________

Garden Scene

“the furious ghosts nowhere

but in the heads of visitors”

—Sylvia Plath

Unabridged Journal

August 9, 1956

Grub-white worms—

Reddening among daffodils

I’ll go out and sit awhile—

Letting them do their thing

The flowerbed flushed—

With dirty idiot pearls

White bones cannibalized—

Shadows in the flowerbed

A pigeon’s white fantail—

Spreads briefly so pretty

White runny little turds—

Plop down in the dirt

Dead Lover

“Rats, and

smells of rot”

—Sylvia Plath

“Moonrise,”

The Colossus

Their bodies rot—

I can smell it sometimes

Daffodil heads bloom—

Stained linen below

Small ants and grubs—

Lay their eggs, fatten

White is the complexion—

Of the dead lovers

I tire imagining—

Rocks and roots are one

Assia’s pretty face—

Blank socket-eye holes

Dragging Ted down—

He may ripen yet

Assia

“her latest suitor”

—Sylvia Plath

“Spinster,”

The Colossus

I’m a spinster now—

Thank gawd it’s over

The last suitor—

Almost the end of it

Fucking himself dead—

Suddenly a gunshot

Muffled in the bedroom—

The usual lover baby-talk

A pair of lovers—

Rank tumult of loins

The whole affair—

Early on so slovenly

Ted’s gait no more—

Assia’s gone Sluthood

Ted

“beast’s furtive

discipline”

—Sylvia Plath

“Spinster,”

The Colossus

Ice, snow, rocks—

Scrupulously austere

Each sentiment—

Within its cold realm

Burgeoning, unruly—

Such a vulgar man

My child-idiot husband—

Reeling giddy in bed

Afterwards always—

Withdrawing neatly

Around my house now—

No more insurgent husband

Curse, fist, threat—

His mutinous dead meat

The Rabbit Catcher

“more stink”

—Sylvia Plath

“Mussel Hunter

at Rock Harbor”

The worms, insects—

Fat, fed and plump

While down below—

They croak and wither

Ted and Assia both—

Dissipating tardily

Not a pretty sight—

Their sexy somnolence

But the worms rejoice—

The genius of plenitude

It doesn’t sicken me—

Nor do I lament 

___________________

I came to Court Green—

To be a colorful poet

My white bookcases—

My coffin elm desk

Beached by the Taw—

The River of the Dead

A rabbit-huntress—

I snare them both

Fish-bait clumped—

Like bulbs in the spring

I smell them stink—

In the daffodils so sweet

__________________

So very silent at—

The edge of the grave

Catered to by worms—

Caressed by teardrops

Sly coffin hinges swing—

Open and shut for them

The wary underworld—

Eyeing me, smiles

Small dirty knobs—

Nudge each other jokingly

Pygmy burrowers—

Inch thru the trenches

All camouflaged—

From prying eyes

______________________

Down below grubby—

Sibilant hordes sidle

Guess what they’ve found—

Down there in the mulch?

A grown man in bondage—

With a gargantuan dick

A knight in corduroy—

A moody Yorkshire prick

The Taw retracing its—

Twisty snake-path once again

Obliquely ominously—

Obsequiously back to the sea

But how he itches so—

Badly between his bare toes

______________________

Comets pass coolly—

Orbiting overhead

Halley’s Tail puzzles—

Over me down here

Who the crater saw—

What the rubbish said

The fiddler crabs—

Don’t say a thing

A headstrong Yank—

Reclusive witch

An Oriental poet—

Samurai slice & dice

Art for art’s sake—

My Wuthering slight

The Daffodil’s Daughter

“My heart under your foot”

—Sylvia Plath

“The Beekeeper’s Daughter,”

The Colossus

A garden of mutterings—

Black and blue and obscene

The great corollas bruised—

Pealing back their foreskins

A scent of stench almost—

Too strong to stand

Big Daddy maestro of bees—

Under my feet, beneath my nose

The daffodils nod their heads—

The dirt is rich with daddies

Father, Bridegroom

“Father, bridegroom”

—Sylvia Plath

“Beekeeper’s Daughter,”

The Colossus

Strumpet-blooms open wide—

Little yellow boudoirs

Seminal, potent dynasties—

Rise from the fetid flowerbed

Death smells like perfume—

Dark rotting flesh way down there

Busy bees finge the petals above—

While down below it’s just business

Worms wiggle their way—

In and out of Assia’s mouth-hole

And her infernal bridegroom—

Moans the day he met her

The Times Are Dirty

“Unlucky the hero born”

—Sylvia Plath

“The Times are Tidy,”

The Colossus

Unlucky the gigolo stud—

The watchful moors preside

Nature’s rotisserie turns—

Down there of its own accord

There’s no caresses anymore—

For the louche lounge lizard

It’s hazardous business—

To be a poet these days

Ask burnt-out Auden—

Dumped by Chester for Greeks

There’s no honor anymore—

For the living or the dead

Francis Bacon the Painter

“To his house the bodiless

come to barter endlessly”

—Sylvia Plath

“Sculptor,” The Colossus

In his filthy studio—

Crucifixion can be stylish

They’re a dime a dozen—

Just ask Miss Picasso

His gilded gutter—

Overflows with Velazquez

Glutted with blood & sperm—

Just ask George Dyer

Pope Innocent X—

Isn’t so very innocent

Sylvia ogled at them—

At the Tate sideshow

Flesh Flute Notes

“the lily root”

—Sylvia Plath

“Flute Notes from

a Reedy Pond,”

The Colossus

A chill sifts downward—

Layer after layer of dirt

Down in the bowels—

Of Ted’s lily roots

His writhing goodlooks—

Much for the worse

The eye of the sky—

Is now a dark asshole

His movie star goodlooks—

Fugitives of indolence

Worms and nymphs—

Feasting on him long ago

All things eventually—

Sink and stink real bad

Ted’s hawk and his wolf—

His pike and his fox gone

Tongued sweet lyrics—

Now Golgotha glutted

Poet laureate badboy—

The Order of Merit man