songanddancegirl

ode to insufferable hipsters+their suffering dogs

some vile imposter in there  shrill+headslam  bellows

ABORT!  ABORT!    is it fear?   hell yes   that cocoon lover

will be dust should i become  madame butterfly🦋   but i am

stealth   i trick my lazymind and say:

guess what?   u don’t have to write today!

these pens+papers are just being arranged  on the desk

(as hip dogs howl in the alleyways  everyfuckingday)  so kick back u

lazy bastard  +listen to the hounds brayyyyyyyyyyy  (or harpoon a few)

stealth poet picks up the pen     words fly

or this scenario   NO i am NOT moving to a place   with whales

i am just jerking  spouting off   one+the same?  quite likely   so i trick

that inner pussy and say:

don’t worry  u NEVER have to grow or change or suffer  or believe

we’ll leave u here on this nice little precipice dear  where boredom

ennui  +your mother   will eat at your liver

Prometheus came to love the eagle

Sisyphus the rock

and u the braying dogs of west queen west

___

Up!  Pig!  On!  Faster!  On!  Adieu!  Pig!  Yip!  Adieu!   But

habit is a great deadener. At me too someone is looking, of

me too someone is saying he is sleeping, he knows nothing,

let him sleep on. (Waiting for Godot  Samuel Beckett  1954)

Fall 2021  ..waiting for Godot is not all it’s cracked up to be..

life’ll kill ya then yer dead

when the last cave person lay  inert+decompose

his people kicked at his legs  +left him there to sleep

when they returned in the morn   there was he

now shorn of scalp   nightweasels they came   the tribe

pondered this  +huddled in fear  who would next lay?   +was

this inert thing a contagion?  like the barking cough they all

barked  come damp spring days

a pyre was made  +they looked at each other sidelong   thus

paranoia  +religion  were born   alongside immortality +fate

we aren’t much more sophisticated  eyeing the bereaved suspiciously

will they give what he had  to me?  think smallpox  diphtheria  et al

everything burned  clothes  linens  toys   go ahead  ask anyone who

was in a sanitarium  circa 1925

from our old mother’s recollections  at 7:   saw her parents thru a

fence darkly  toys ash   sister dead   +then there is grief itself   a country

where u linger for about a year  skin flayed   half mad   with one foot in 

their  graves

20 something doctor in sweats  tells u to buckthefuckup!  i’ll give u three

months  then a prescription  this as the scent of dying brother wafts up

u know how deathbed scenes cling   then she comments on my pink shoes

+ returns to her screen

she couldn’t put a blouse on?  a pair of pants?  a bra?   fer chrissakes..

__

Fall 2021

there’s always the afterlife suckers

(Will having the last laugh…)

there’s a guy listing close behind me  old +tobaccoyellow

the sky threatens pink  on a day so grey   even the pigeons

weep for their dead    u get the picture?

wait!  what light over yonder window breaks?  bear with me now

it’s that goddamned spaceship   the gloam lifts   i open my umbrella

+drift   earth becomes small   and William Shatner gives me the finger

but hey  i float hindenburg above the covidmob   they gnash for

turkey  +an easy cure   SUCKERS!    there is no cure   there is only

Dr. Isaac Bogotch on tv  with his skinnyface  +a fully stocked bar

(go on +check it out tonight)

he anoints himself with lagavulin  his cup runneth over   most nights

medical gibberish   brings on dyspepsia    you lay supine  drooling

as the wild ants who invaded your bed  stroke u

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FALL 2021 🐜🐜🐜🐜