the burlesque poetess(s)

poem-a-day week27 “If you can’t sweat your way into fishnets / You can always merge with the words”

November 1-7, 2010 week27: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7
http://locksmithy.livejournal.com/tag/poem-a-day
http://poetesss.tumblr.com/PAD

The 2 Boston nights of the Dresden Dolls Reunion Tour…epic and rare. So they as a pair are the teaser. i was part of the meta-crowd-busk-ruckus, majorette-ing w. fellow Broken TOys Kevin Corzett (bari sax) & Tj “Terrorence” Horn (Rufio hobo drum kit) for Emperor Norton’s Stationary Marching Band. Huzzah! Close 2nd for teaser-poem is #186 “A mirror-holding figure.” For Helena xo. You know, not just cos’ it was a carnie time— i’m really proud of these poems from this week. Neat. i hope you enjoy.

182. Novemeber 2, 2010 (dresden dolls, wilbur theatre night1, tues.)

I’m objectifying all of you! This whole line!

Women’s waists used to cinch in or
Rather forcibly squeeze past velvet
Ushers, repeat cabaret offenders in the cold

Some kind of communist pilot
Mucks up the sound system
A dolls tribute to masquerade ball

-jointed elbows and knees
Detailed by quick strokes of india ink
“We McFuckings never apologize!”

“I’m picturing a lot of cold sheep” your clan
The opening number rips open
The last decade of underage tour-shirts

Corset’d at the merch table
A kid with black blush nodding violently
Snarling every word alongside the ripping

Banging of keys and skin
Petals scattered fetal around the monitors
So this is devotion, ritual lyricism

Gatling gun strobe light
Making a pair of pre-code cartoons
Stage lightning silhouettes

If you can’t sweat your way into fishnets
You can always merge with the words
We all don’t fit in
These shell casings
Mother of pearl clips

ENSMB, two nights of street carnie and theatre parading fury! (AFP’s twitpic of Kev & co.)

183. November 3, 2010 (wed. ddolls @ Wilbur night2)

Degenerate terra cotta

If you feel like you went down with the ship
‘s orchestra, then get in the van
Our composer has spare buttons

The majorette is drawing straws
For the lovers behind sticky registers
Intentions are un-weighted, without glitter

Water in my cup you could mistake
Me for the other moustache’d half
If you’re offering a seat in the red mezzanine

Throng, stop staring at the honeymooner
Lingerie, sweet cheeks ascending marble stair
Redundant really, someone’s crinoline comment

On the rarity of natural blonde goths
The elongated neck of the actress
And the recurring encore of violence

Lead us to the South Street diner
(Cupcake fairies can’t kiss everyone)
The taxis passing by had wondered:

What is this brassy pack of gypsy smokes?
AWOL vagrants’ fruity theatrics
In the streets of the theatre district?

It’s the punk cabaret warm up,
The ballerina stretching side-stage in chalk

*brown bag blue ribbon Titanicsicle prize i made for dear @selinaDF (tumble-read all about it)

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

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181. November 1, 2010 (mon. wk27 commences)

Pallet and ratchet

i swear our culture wants to leave roses
On every career girl’s coffee-stained pillow!
Another art house date night flick opens

On her hem’s chaste moss stitch (see also: Chenille)
What blouse can bloom with a full career?
Hot one-hitter blisters through the lipstick stain

Smile as glossy as the dried oil paint on a glass ceiling
The soft palate of the mouth reminds me ~ last wash at 830
Snake in a bit late, the nice laundromat ladies

Recognize me by unmatched socks
(They aren’t really a laundry day decision)
Unpracticed Diazepam’d housewife

Knows clean sheets and polka dots match
Most sexual fantasies— Windex your filthy
Dirty window syndrome

i can kiss you and taste the difference now—
Colander and Coriander

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tues. & wed. above-the-cut

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184. November 4, 2010 (thurs., night1 of the WSinkdrip curated series)

Victoriously into Havana’s crucial sugar industry

Control the Ginsbergian urge to make this grocery run
Any more that it really is, don’t question
The $1 Banquets, don’t drown in cheap chills

i dreamt you had to ask me what goosebumps
were— or meant, out with it! My infidel
Sans Castro coat

A brief history of whippings
Hidden behind beard
The evening entertainment

Ready to sandpaper kiss
A ghost whisper-feeds you lines
The thrill of the recently rotting

Monologuing, death is duller than I thought!
There’s a ghoul making our dinner reservation
Banshee wiping down the darkest booth

This is a selkie curated date night
Tea-stained, mulled-music maimed
Wallpaper over these fey sub-personalities

From the front row you can catch
All of this, watch your arm hairs rise

(pictures by Justin Moore!)

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185. November 5, 2010 (fri.)
Fulfilling a metaphorical input

For a purple rain cheque and a fizzy water
You’ll hear it probably has to do with your parent
-al stereotypes, calves sucked to armchair leather

For a new eraser? Walk away deeply ingrained
With the need to draw (instead of) read myself
Into three-pill/ow oblivion, it’s a glitch to recall doze-dreams

So vividly, poets and editors take note—
For a schooner you’ll never have to learn
The truth about chocolate milk

No one will think i’m creepy if i keep
Drawing milk carton portraits of ourselves?
Imaginary screen caps from future montages

For a dollar you can have one i already scrawled
On the back of a ragged brown bag
Damp, as i’ve already drunk

Our gold screw-cap ~ Irish wake’s worth
Scrawled on the back of a ballet program
i’ve danced for our friends, still asleep
A volcanic flow of coffee in our gutter

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186. November 6, 2010 (sat., crashing the Bunny Collab. shmoozeworkshop w. Meff/Helena at Pamplona)

A mirror-holding figure

What time is it? i hardly feel
Sober— moonlight savings
Add 1 hour of subterranean brew

Wrought iron cafe table
With three birds perched—
Last bastion of November beatniks

Here the playwrights can think (smoke)
Hunkered down double-breasted jackets
Inspiration comes within the sight of vices

Dragon drifting towards privilege-steeples, etc.
Each soy latte propels our character
Assessment plots over my Abnormal

Psychology text book, too giggly to split the DSM-IV bill—
PTSD for the March Hare and this moustache doodle
Merging with third eye kiss curl, see

Stalactite stirs cave sugar
Limestone coffee cup drip drip
Crash into sibyl’s saucer

Through chick pea soup steam
i make off-colour notes
Fingerless socks on my arms

Puppets plot the inmates’ escape
Alice in the Asylum, Off with her meds!
Out of time now, Red Nurse Ratchet

Will chase the skunk out of group
Therapy, the weeds growing
In the hoarder’s toilet tank

The clock parts the poor boy’s amassing
By emergency matches
Halo of emergency exits

cheating b/c even though this poem is about show plots a week prior-to— i have pix from the end-product (Omnivortex Wonderland). poetic time travel.

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187. November 7, 2010 (sun., church brunch etc.)

Holy toad in the hole
Brioche and bacon sticky
The obits i keep, two copies

Eyes’ whites jive dancing
Clutching notebook— the zombieuprising
Was scarier the next night

Lying in bed thinking about it
Mouth open to tell you
Let’s show our rabbit teeth

Speak from the darkest place
The soup-burn softened
Red roof of syntax, spit

More often than not i’m trying to
Empty this souvenir box
Cough up jewels from the dentist’s

Prized lead windows
Wine-colored stained glass
Letting Sunday light in for Christians

Whose lighters are dead, don’t know
How to troubleshoot their own Macs
Hop off the bar stool, leave coffee cold

i’m trying to tell you how easy
it is to tell others
It’s rough going