the burlesque poetess(s)

poem-a-day week21 “Broad hip’d broadcast markup language”

i’m everso everso tardy/be-hind/betwixt & ‘tween & playing awful ketchup, mes amis. do forgive me. last sat. (Cynthia von Buhler-world) to now (and it’s not over yet!) have been some of the most overstimulating art wankery ginormous and important-to-me performances of my life. and i started teaching my zine workshop! happy lady. full service multimedia freelance burlesque poetess & professoress, at yo soivece.

September 20-26, 2010 week21: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7
http://locksmithy.livejournal.com/tag/poem-a-day
http://poetesss.tumblr.com/PAD

140. September 21, 2010 (tues.)

I. Busking “MinInstruments” (tinys + Edrie!)

When sexy Communists—
i mean dominatrix Socialists—
i mean socialites of sidewalks

Get out of the car button’d like Louise
Brooks, bee-stung bob ready for the front line—
(Queue swimming with green paper)

Autocoaches crash abrubtly, yellow spyglasses
Tinkle of glass, a tin giggle in the distance

We are now lousy with illegit’ $2 bills
Pauvre Thomas Jefferson
(He didn’t seem like a “1 belt” kind of guy)

II. Hypothesis Show première

Once upon a childhood paleontologist—
i mean middle school marine biologists—
i mean all grown up burlesque

Inquisitive minds must combine
Experimental tassel twirling, subverting
The strip tease, tighty whiteys

And poetry of womanism, faces on flour and syrup
Food product like Frank-n-Furter’s
Garter’d lovechild with Marie Antoinette

Singing phallus, beckoning to be
Lap partners—
i mean lab partners

img of Kirby Bits from ‘Midnight Vultures’ by Lacy Gazelle, FB & top hipstamatic of Edrie from her FB

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

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141. September 20, 2010 (mon. TOys prac.)

Not stoked to spend money
Responsibly stocking our house—
Locksmith pointing us to the Strip Eeze, steel wool

Let’s go eat pasta
(F’in fancy new fire extinguisher)
My calluses are stronger since DC

Vocal range from mountains
To Beirut— outside orange toed comfort zones
I like that we sing a song together now!

(old RPM 2/2010 pic from Tj. scenes of practice, fambly pornival.)

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141. September 22, 2010
Where the tricky wicky wacky woo

We can’t take your alarum call just now
It’s “Unable to wake-up Wednesday”
Though you make a damn fine copy— coffee

i’ve outsourced megaphoning
In my claims to fame, the guitars
That restring themselves, corsets

On autotune the conversation
Takes a shot, maudlin to morbid
Mortality is mud in your eye, enough—

You know that implies the winning war
Horse rushing around the racetrack
Kicking grave dirt onto your ascot

Who’d you bet on anyway? i had no intention
Of getting out of my crater today

“dead guitar guy” by cannibol. check out his Alice tarot deck & watercolours of vintage girls.

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142. September 23, 2010 (thurs., paintin’ & zine workshop plots w. Eowyn & )

i met a Mad Strongman in my sketchbook—
Made a silver cloud-bound fool of you today

Let me leave my purse somewhere musical
Chairs at the Sapphic coffee shoppe, chocolate-hued

“Oh, of course, i love sharing art inspirations…”
“Anything permanent or glossy sucks

All the subtlety out”
On the front porch in thick smoke
Maybe these poem-a-days are comic strips, Chuck

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“Pajamas are very bohemian. Shut up and drink your absinthe, dear.” -Boston Bohemia

September 24, 2010 (Fri., Trabants at Buffalo Exchange & much Davis Sq. wandering)

A free concert surrounded by hipster threads
Thrift store threats, wide brims to try on b’tween horn solos
Halloween tutus— just like our carnie Friday frights

Genderful, playful ‘nuff to shop for hallucinations
Sandals on the 1st floor, books & unshaved gentlemen’s wear

(Gently used) in Goodwill’s basement Robert Bly’s hard
-cover about masculinity mythos snuggles a 1969

Textbook on “Inter-Sexual Disorders” — Lesbians speak out!
And other period homosocial flyerage hides inside

Superglue solvents, there’s only boater hats at that bar
We’re as ravenous as headstones for moss
(All the cigarette sucking fauxn-ups unfed at the taqueria)

pic from “Mergy”/Deb’s facebook, merci merci!

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144. September 25, 2010 (sat., TOys at Cafe939’s red room)

Parting the post-punk
Show sidewalk, sea of bombers
Bright black with mean studs, bleach white

Shirts on kids easy to wiggle through
In my clashing floral prints, vampire eyebrows
Raise as Security smiles, nods me inside

I’ve got nothing to prove in a newsprint palette
But someone should check on Shirtless Guy
I saw him stumble down that basement stairwell
With his brown-bagged forty
.

Each coat of mascara applied
By chain-laden banshees
Shrieks in glitter, fugitive from shallow

Top hats in grave grey satins
In the red room we’ll photograph
Like we’re in a theatre production:

Rocky Horror for neo-Victorians?
The Family Circus all queer’d up?
Our band makes you join

The mosh pit of crawling burlesque
Dancers, but we have to go—
I’m a half-step off and don’t want to wait
Any longer to take my Winky
Pirate cat to Angell Clinic

photos by Deb Haber/@mergyeugnau’s pix once more.

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145. September 26, 2010 (Sun., wk21 fin. i consider after 11pm on a Sat. on to be Sun.’s poem!)

Y’know, play a psychedelic show
With fruit salad in the green room
All sorts of strange birds perched

On amps— and then for our Saturday night
-cap: emergency animal clinic run
Such soivece! No one else there

(Or out walking their Great Danes in post-drunk
O-clock heels) i can’t help but flirt
With our vet, “you’re like a dude!”

Dogbirding her dark dark hair, so nice
To us i try to come up with a couplet on the spot…
The Angell clinic on a hot Sat. night

As dead as a Staples on Sunday ?
Delighted writer/vulture picking through
The Back to School Sale carnage

Whatever colourful notebooks
Are left behind to pry into, maybe buy
The gothpaper— notquite wallpaper
Fleur de Lys for trying out lesson plans
Fleur de Lys for gifting

(my catloaf Mahlercat scratched herself into an eye-swelled Winky pirate cat but all is well now…)