the burlesque poetess(s)


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poem-a-day week19 “The short life span being popular in the 19th century”

September 6-12, 2010 week19: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7
http://locksmithy.livejournal.com/tag/poem-a-day
http://poetesss.tumblr.com/PAD

131. September 10, 2010 (fri.)
Don’t you know you have to wear eyeliner in your twitter picture?

Exhausted by beauty marks
Knee Boop-bent inward
Lower eyelids spider weighted

Cartoonish astonishment, celluloid sensuality
.

“How would mom dress as an almost 26 year old?”
Wrap me in autumn, skirts snapped at
Paparazzi with glitter vampire bite

On his neck, my ambivalent
-ly overstuffed purse absent from this angle
i fondle the Prodigal bassist’s luck

Charms, we manage to say, “You know,
while you’re touching yourself”
A few times each

If you thought i looked ravishing
When i walked in, toes curled
With Erik Satie in a baggie

Wait til’ i dish on the useless erectile
Tissue, trans-perations, play piercings
We know the same human doll

And oy! Shomer shabbas Jews’ll
Do the darndest things—
My money’s no good here
No handkerchief to shake change

watercolour steamcrunk

paparazzi at black fortress of opium

the rest of the poems li(v)e below!

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127. September 6, 2010 (mon.)

Don’t be shy, four string
Dulcimer with Cheshire stripes
Vagrant delirium
.

Absent sensuality:
A matted Persian cat you dreamt
Was hiding, scootched under night

Stand— the secret drawer
Every romance novel calls for
(To jam in the back)

Lock immobile, antique crust
Like the spinster aunt’s gritted smile
The promise(d) ring lost
Beneath dusty rug

08-18-09_29

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128. September 7, 2010 (tues.)

Bargain coffee pinchers
Pennies for sprinkles
Ice cream carton lids

Loose like pursed lips
Watching through frosty prison glass
A shelf of lukewarm sundae fudge
.

Hoarders TV breeds
Nightmares, mummified cat spines
No choice but a home ec obsessive day

Thankful to wake in luxurious bed nest
Being the beast kneading at your chest

.

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129. September 8, 2010 (wed.)

Self-portraits manipulated
Into sepia odes to pink-tipped
Girls disappearing behind dark panes

(The Will Call doors)

.

We hadn’t even began
To noodle with vegans
Please feed us post-buskathon

Softshoe-in’ for our stroganoff
Went as expected with mostly
Decorative evening satchels

Overcoat pockets still stitched shut
Silken lining unsliced, put through the cleaners

(Press night)

tiny instruments (propah!) cambridge premiere

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130. September 9, 2010 (thurs.)

Is the world so small
That hairline alone, jester
Jodphurs and dark Chaplin shuffle

Are recognizable a block away
In notsobig Boston? Auspicious
Signs on a day of thunder

Without rain to interrupt serenades
To neighbours that just came to pet
The dog with curly hair and blue eyes

i’ve been directing the first verse
of “That’s My Weakness Now” to
Pint-sized punks on JFK bridge

Meff: “How you doin’?”
Girls: “Wow! We like your hats! Where are you off to?”
Me: “Marriage.”
Meff: “What?”
Me: “WIll you have me?”
Meff: “Right here?”

i am almost ravaged before the light turns
A queer light green
It was an omenic day, indeed

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131. above-the-cut

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132. September 11, 2010 (sat.)
Bridge & groom already detached

i don’t care about linseed oil sheen
Or stage dressing the liminal vaudeville
Today is about sheet-creases furrowing my brow

Lucid dream claws- clawing at the comforter
Paralysis of sleep, coma nap, chemical check-out
‘Igby Goes Down’ in theatres flashback
.

The club managers drunk-boasting

About who held whom’s ass
-shelf while ladders were used
To dim the wedding-lights

(Strung out in heaven)
Seven minutes in the photo booth
Each flash a timeless first kiss

Flattering burst of 2D black and white light
Confetti litters the floor, the maid of honor
Slurring, tossing words like “creatives” & “ideation” at our feet

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133.September 12, 2010 (sun, wk19 fin)
The short life span being popular in the 19th century

If no one sees me eat
The sterilizing chemicals can’t harm
Anyone smoking far from children

Orange dust no detective could ID
Confessions and artists in bus shelters
Cold polished granite

Funereal burns (on) your thighs
A ring stuck on your right hand
Gold promise- the sun is shining
In Union Square, Mighty Old
Melancholia has won out

Tags: poem a day day in versery boston tiny instruments busking melancholia spinster in training movie-fluenced
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