the burlesque poetess(s)

poem-a-day week24 “Delicate deli inappropriacy in ascots & bowlers”

October 11-17, 2010 week24: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7
http://locksmithy.livejournal.com/tag/poem-a-day
http://poetesss.tumblr.com/PAD

(re-demonstrating how not to stash money your first day of busking in broad daylight)

164. October 15, 2010 (fri. rain’d out buskin’ lead to Brookline flyering/debauchery)

Desire is matched by
The distant rhythm
Telegraph the breast
This tasteless catechism
An anxious calm

There will be no copper jingling
As it tumbles out of hat, hair
Loosened into small change
Twisters as our tips rain onto

Boutineer, bound breast, sidewalk
Stage too damp in this Oh, Boston
Storm means roaming Friday night

In flapper cape, in character to flyer
Flaunt kamikaze song at the Jewish
Neighbourhood’s sex shoppe?

Let me regale you with linen napkins
And kugel samplers- delicate deli
Inappropriacy in ascots & bowlers:

Nearby hospice patron
Speaking at a Friday night volume
In a rather rowdy restaurant

We normally love the place
But it’s just TOO LOUD tonight
Repeated to waiter, manager, busboy

Until we finally notice
Their untouched soup and wine
(If we’d been fastier ruffians

We’d have pounded it and toasted
Them L’Chaim! on their way out)
You can’t kick Semitic gem’d gesticulations

And youthful jazz hands out of a booth
For being queer(ly dressed) and bubbly as greps
Water, giggling animatedly ‘bout fisting

In cartoon voices vaudeville bespeaks
Folks rather spiffed up, you can’t point us out
As those rough lookin’ teens with silver topped canes

Lesbros in chimney spout tophats! The one with
The nose ring and monocle! Tattoos and cuff links!
It’s how the boisterous/bourgeoise

Get away with any everything
Isn’t it? Starched & collar’d delinquents
Matzo ball robber barons

Of your calm soup and crackers evening
Paying customers as pretty as we
“Get away with” enjoying ourselves, entertaining
Anyone warm-blooded as bouillon broth

(top italics are ‘poems by removal’ i wrote via The Passionate Life)

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

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160. October 11, 2010 (mon, wk24 start, LNFC soundcheck & Personae show at Jacque’s)
Help us escape this instant mixed fruit

In line at Harvard’s Dunkies:
(Tj txt) “That’s what I like to call the liberal ponytail”
(Me) “Woodstock Elderly Community?”

But were the monkeys roasting
His coffee unvaccinated? Bonobos? Bleeding
Heart liberals, black coffee before

Day-early sound check the runaway kick
Drum resounding through Oberon
Looks so much smaller empty of cocktails

And corsets splashed with pineapple
The Genderful one flatters (ghost of double
sets of lashes), “You are a singular entity”
.

Vice V’ersatile’s “jeggings” spark the ritual
Watching wigs fly and girls shake pop rocks
Into their heavy metal

Chastity belts, cocktails at the dive bar
Tranny runway where Machete’s tiny witch hat
Karaokes ‘Dragula’ while Stone Sisters

Perform cauldron cabaret renditions
Summoning iron butterfly smoke
Shapes move towards box fans

Fluttering fabric Hellfire
Lemmy Killmeffster’s giving out ace
Lap dances, bro, get your brimstone

Bromance kicks
Here no sacrifices of blood, just vices

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» Amanda Palmer’s blog (incl. pix!)
» our entire set from the evening on a YT playlist, oui!

161. T/F: Mass. Ave. is the Boston song-equiv’ to Leeds United?

October 12, 2010 (WS & TAoBT play the LNFC)

Pierrot’s got guns these days, damn
Scalp-showing sensitive metaphors
Two different ways to punk, concentrated

Glitter to inhale backstage
No acts of red birthday balloon terror
Til the guillotine evasive burlesque

Routine of roadietiquette, don’t point
At the nice author holding doors for us
—We were busking but hours ago

Out front collecting quarters, what sell outs
(No really, this joint is sold out?)
Edrie relaxes from ringleaderess

To French drawing board— tiny pony
While Walter draws rats on her back, Johnny
Blazes through the audience in white waist

Gold face, “prends garde à twat!”
We help out while our bunnies
Take turns unrolling stockings, sketching

Caressing each other and in part five
i’m the Jr. Olympic team’s
Gymnastics horse to our violist

The neck of her instrument entwines
Like a swan (or sensual swami)

AFP’s pic (&Neil’s)

Neil Gaiman sings w. filthy words, we love it, *my tumble about the evening +videoS!)

» Karmic Photography’s Late Night F**in’ Cabaret album on fb
» David Aquilina’s starkindler album of awesome

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162. October 13, 2010 (wed., Union Hall, Brooklyn TOys show w. Jill Tracy)
The outlaw puts future utopias in my body

I dreamt about laying my unjeweled cheek between
Your four lanes, the double yellow
Elastic warnings— we had an apeshit

Drive home, somewhere in the land of 2am
Town of Drunk O’Clock Connecticut Drivers
I yelled “Cunnilingus!” in the ear of a passing double

Arches patron, I was just reading the Angus
Burger sign as Meff pointed
The smudge of smiles on our cheeks

No knights in this barony, barren Brooklyn night i’d
Imagined the android takeover, shivering as we passed
The Matrix apartment projects

Photographed the giant NY skyline
-encircling cemetery
Overhead they pass the bocce tourney hours

From hand to hand to parallel park
Subterranean inky serenades, an evening gown
Of now-familiar fears, petit night terrors

Dearly crushed velvet, crooked cloche hats’
Rhinestone teeth, askew (with) laughter
The rot reminds us we have carbon

To spare— chalk our hands, find window half-rolled down
Dangerously starting this journey with my hatch
Open, amps and cherry cargo precarious

Driving off with my gas cap bouncing
Reading billboards to one another we mimic
The insidious vision of Eros, Inc.

(Jill Tracy #WSInkdrip afterlife)

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163. October 14, 2010 (thurs.)

Well-advertised private practice
Emily Dickinson dropping water balloons
From the widow’s walk, Take that!

Illiterate cads! It’s paintgun warfare
Through the tin can telephone wires
A public thoroughfare— Zen rock garden

Fame is a fickle crow
Upon a rotting scarecrow
Men dream of it and lie

With the kinky-as-a-spiral
Staircase Rapunzel sorts
Ignore the garret-dwelling

Indoor poets, cat thesaurus firmly in lap
Fingers unpricked by spindles
Quill rash binding arms to wicker rockers

Armrests drummed by Minnie Mouse
Gloves repairing garters
Embroideries of sickly posies

Edrie’s beautiful chemical pony’nalysis zine page!)

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164. above-the-cut

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165. October 16, 2010 (sat.)

Solitude gives birth to the original in us… to the poetry/perverse/illicit/absurd (source/butchered)

My glitter baton e-research window shopping
Is really my child-self recreating literary Erlebnis
My sister’s purple plaything?

Erfarhung— Doctor Faustus style
Our driveway chalk, forest of four squares
A worm-eaten bench of milkmaid views

Innocent sunsets appreciated off the phone
Back to this glamourous life, channel surfing
For writing company, people to overhear

Old Navy has been peddling cargo pants
Since the Victorian era when
You couldn’t refer to the river walk

As “the backsides”
No matter how many coal chutes
And bloomer frills in the architecture

You could see by the dying eye of the Lord
Villainy takes place under electric lamps
Alone, let’s be lost to the night
Maybe my next baton should light up

(telling my re-learning how to spin my baton story…rediscovered on tour while staying w. my ‘rents. new/old props in my childhood playroom, needing harpist petaluma to help me be a good child/carny one inebriated eve…)

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166. October 17, 2010 (Sun.,Keshet/Truth Serum’s New Jew Revue)

“Be a paid performer”

Our Chamsas may be tarnished, but
We’re both fresh and clean
We just wanted to say Shalom!
And make a tiny scene (so small!)

My whole life feeling green around the gills
In green rooms has (not) prepared me for this
Cloying smell of talcum

Humid hairspray shared in the human reflecting pool
Counter-space ~ a mine field
The silver spandex lining tense

Accordion rhinestones eclipse the
Sequined red mouth of stage
Human mike stands on stained wood floor

Mascara wand nervey before smoke
Break, performer-drink, sliver of mirror to wink at
Suzuki drop outs dramatic entrance

With speculii and rosin, tadpole throats
Coughing Yiddish, Haftorah portion jitters
Would make anyone mute on the 1/2-sized fiddle

The ritual nom de plume in perfect reverse
Shadows of majiscules— English & Alef-Bet
An ambivalent hiss at Holocaustic remark, OK

Just living up to the Jazz Singer
Stereotype, flirting with zaftig curls, colourful bracelets
What else are two nice genderqueering Jewish goirls going to do
Besides get writing degrees, wear black?

sneak peek of ze revue graciously taken/shared by dear photog David Aquilina