the burlesque poetess(s)

poem-a-day week26 “Nintendo conjured cock” & suchs

October 25-31, 2010 week26: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7
http://locksmithy.livejournal.com/tag/poem-a-day
http://poetesss.tumblr.com/PAD

close 2nd for this archived week’s teaser-poem is my kindof cousin/companion piece to “guitar hero,” #177 “A joint venture to find papers” - i already pimped it on le twitter, so i figured i’d give another funny one ‘air time.’

179. October 30, 2010 (Sat. TOys play superfans’ Hallowe’en eve weddingig)

Up the servant stairs, skirting ghost blood
Stains on the guests’ scavenger hunt map: photograph
A band member eating quinoa, then howl

Along with the ambient spook
-y music keyboardist in the parlour with the meat
-less lasagna wafting in, high-five the undead

Prom queen (bride), make (non-swearing) nice in front
Of the family dressed as a hippie commune at the table
In the corner a duet of Diet Coke & rums tremble

Under the screeching speakers
The costume contest is judged
By the mike-cupping lion from Oz

In high heel paws (she grew up in Korea, so)
She thinks the ICP clown is a black and white Joker
i feel good about making the Mad Hatter

Uncomfortable, my mis-matched socks disturbed
Him more than his own, Pierrot polka dot holes
In the boat to oompah pah pah

Then sauceless sneak out past
Other cars’ skunk smoke pouring out the windows
Too bad harassing historical figures

Won’t get you any points, i manage to control
Myself from walking off with the tiny lanterns
And take pictures of Walter as the perfect pirate

Willy Wonka lurking among the candy buffet
On three say, Waterloo!
One-two-three— Invasion!

Out back of the haunted terrace
The empty wedding tent turns out to be a pecker tease
Hollow sounds from our cell phones dead
Leaves on the dance floor
That Bonaparte really is an exciting guy!

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

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174. October 25, 2010 (wk26, mon. TOys prac.)

Nostalgic for guest suspenders

Our floor tom, wasp-waisted tumbler
Has to leave by 9 if she isn’t going to make it
At all times the veil acts only to anticipate

The reveal, we’re burrowing into
The hollowed out heart of the WIREforest
We hope we can remember Pan’s flick of the knife

What are we worried for, recording shotgun
Back-up vocals? We’ll have painted-on bangs
Super glue’d Safari chops, a built in hammered crowd

Engagements over rotting burlesque
Flesh a year ago’s feast
Your eyes on your pay per set celebrity guests!
We’ll be trick or treating from your
Centerpieces, yet

1. cheating b/c this is a pic from our 10/30 salem show. the view from Helena’s (Sid & Nancy’s) table w. my ukicorn stashed on it. typical hedonism balloons -and- condoms. 2. beautiful work-table of @zombiejackie, creator of tentacle’d TOys merch, and our “offic’” knock-off WSInkdrip line of art, Inkdropz? hee

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175. October 26, 2010 (tues., last night of “bday week” celebrationspoiled child)

The icing ripper horror show

Featuring sailorette breasts
In lieu of corsets, hints of crossdressing
Breathlessness banned

Fox unamused as curdled
Half & half decently buttoned
Hounds of Hell

-ish sensational censorship leads to
Cheerleaders spying
On the over-dieting bags

Gucci-leathered under the leading
Ladies eyes on the gold shorts
This all makes me rather thirsty

For coffee that won’t be made
Glad when i’ve felt the balance of a few knife
Handles in my hand, pastry predatory

Sweet transfat ultraviolence
A real treat— Stamos’s tight tight pants
Eddie!

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176. October 27, 2010 (wed.)

“Buy Whizzo butter and go to Heaven”

Juif fisticuffs coming atcha!
Brown bag liquor’d up artist
Paper? Or just Chinese loyalties, spring rolls

Obedience to the place that delivers
One town over, dumpling-stone’s throw
North, a little oil and ash on the sketch now
.

North quad then— too bright freshman Sunday
Mistaken for fairy guide by the kids shrooming
Shouting from the trees (but my hair simply wasn’t secret roots)

Already in a stoner wander, yisbelief
At yarmulkes, hippies loping
Around in fish blue “Jewcy” t-shirts

And the less you wear
The less you pay dance my friend’s rebbe
Counseled he wear kippah & sneaks to (period)

Gold shoes havin’ a ball spanked
With a lulav at Rocky Horror
The old world Wunderkin

Coney’s enfants terribles
Twirling baton on display
Yes real live incubator
infants! i’d recognize you
Anywhere

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177. October 28, 2010 (thurs.)

A joint venture to find papers

Tape up some beautiful lies
Impossible, slow-mo love scenes
Crimson corners licked shut, gluey
Bed unmade, return to sender
.

The new rock band commercials
Make me want to be chryo-frozen
Until CGI dumbshows of art have died

Off with your pixelated groupie sexploits
The lead singer’s black mane, Nintendo conjured cock
Throws the hotel room’s TV through the glass

Of your own flat-screen!
Controllers can’t make the sounds of sheets ripping
Shrieks at gross bathrooms, the snore of the doped

After a long day, unlubed gig
You just get green screen
Harmonics studies in real live hobo

Band meetings, your avatar eyes
The empty pizza box
(No sound effects for starving artists)

When meanced by international advert
Conspiracy i’ll point to the blurs of light—
Girlboy drummers, high saturation

Mid-drift drawn shirts? Whiskeyless, clearly
You haven’t seen violet
The veins on our friends’ flex

Sweat and spit valves— no bonus points
For knuckles bashed on rims
Blood henna spirals on the skins
.

You sweet talk the waiter to play
Telephone with the cook, sweetmeats
Don’t need brains to like brussel sprouts

You get your off-menu bacon bits
Because we’re real live “rock stars,” or at least
Noisy folks the man with the pad recognizes
With delight

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(sexy WalterS incl. Bex DuSunshine et pseudo-Bewitched witch)

178. October 29, 2010 (fri. Cemetery Circus @ Gulu Gulu, Salem)

They’ve loosened the candy corn legislature
More bitter religious zealots’ marzipan fangs
In the center of Salem, cold as the bronze witch statue’s

Titties, they howl in front of her hard crescent moons
We’d burn in Hell if not for the counter-protester with Little Caesar’s
Pizza box placard, shout-replies God loves masturbation!

Father Sickert will make you giddy with his Gideon’s
Unapproved Bible of hollow sentiments, astronomical
Blasphemy hole-punches condoms, burns like oil lamp

Liquor to taste the prayer of our Saint Cash, our martyred
Sam Hall, God loves cunnilingus! Laughter over(turns) bullhorn
BS, Sid and Nancy grin, goose and feed me cappucino, crêpes-niblets

No one tells me there’s chocolate on my cheek
As i wrap a sentimental German flag around a wind-chapped
Constellation of starfruit, ambi-lambency and absinthe

On the band tab, everyone gets a black and white invite
In their back pocket, Do you like my glass
slippers? A rasta lady keeps repeating her old band’s

Name til’ it’s a drone i can’t recall— accompanies my uke lust
On spoons, it’s the first night of full inkpots
Halloween performance number one of orange and three

After a month of period lapels, proto-communist fetish boots
And anything i can sew to a bowler for Sister Edrie to bless
With votive breasts— i’m regressing

To(o) indecisive angel-fairy-princesscessories
But you don’t mind, our band’s fight is a dirty one
The right to be so retchid
-ly happy in public

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179. above-the-cut

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180. October 31, 2010 (Sun. Halloweenie Potluck horrorfest)

The gash of pleasure

Eleven year-old me’s gold bat socks
i traded my way-back carpool
Seat view of bullet hole bumper stickers for

In Goth Department Store Choices, IL
The one time my aunt mentioned sex
In front me in the dressing rooms

(Something about dresses that come off
When you pull them straight up)
i did a bit of wading through the grocery haze

Froz. corn dogs and lemon hummus
Under lighter click and guitar chord callus
i fumble with blue credit cards for the potluck

The gash of pleasure
For fractals of mouths
Laying on the marmalade cat

(‘gash of pleasure’ from Mr. Pinsky)