circus aficionados burn clothes
circus aficionados burn clothes, and
what difference does it make? except in
those hollow, holy moments where
'excuse me' becomes a prayer?
here we go, in a land of work, this
anthology of invitations to sing while
several images become memory
against a backdrop of religion, we
however uncertain or unstable, persist
in silent essays of evil dealings
or 'refer me to your lawyer' for merry
duels in edmonton, now re-enacted,
now discarded. a play-house of lies:
we insist on irrelevance, or not.
he collapsed yesterday
five minutes out
unconscious on shop floor
woke when ambulance came
we thought he could sleep
through anything
he slept on the couch
for fifteen years
since his wife died
Hell's Angels called him
"Chipmunk"
she took him out of Oakland
some say he looked like
Emiliano Zapata
(more like Frank Zappa)
cowboy boots on night flight
ate uppers like candy
wizard shirt and wolf jacket
we overheated on
desert flats
we swam before
tornado funerals
he was a nice man.
good morning (reductions)
the rock star wears tight black jeans, a striped shirt, and a small cap over shaggy black locks. "i'm moving out tommorrow," he shouts over the music at two am. "i've done my time."
the dominatrix wears a long skirt and a tight collared shirt with long sleeves for her five am flight to New York. "my boyfriend says this will keep me unnoticed in his Hasidic community."
the foster parent has her son start the car at eight in the morning, before she runs downstairs carrying a coffee cup. she smiles and nods from the drivers' seat.
the drunk squats on her doorstoop at ten am, smoking a camel cigarette under smeared mascara and wild hair. Her T-shirt says, "A Woman's Place Is On My Face."
the fashion designer has close-cropped black curls and wears high-heeled boots under a tulip skirt. "anytime you wanna stop by," she says at noon, "we could have a cup of tea and chat."
Gotta joke for ya.
Astronomer and a musician walk into a bar.
She's not really a musician, and
He's not really an astronomer, but
That's all right, you see:
He's not really a man, and
She's not really a woman, either.
It's 1921 and Woody's has just opened in Philly.
Our friends both came down from Boston
Where they met at his house;
She's a piano tuner
and he's a dilettante
Who wanted to learn The Firebird.
Woody's is roaring; queens and bull dykes abound:
Here's where they come up with their scheme.
He'll work her job one day,
She'll work his,
then together,
they'll make cosmic music.
He buys her a drink, tells her a story: "See, kid,
I like you; you're all right in my book.
I don't mind you got a dick
'cuz you don't act like it,
even when you pretend."
They laugh, cuz they know it's no joke.
"This is the plan," he says, and whispers in her ear.
The next week, back in Cambridge, she becomes
A Human Computer Who Traces the Stars.
Twenty-five cents an hour,
She catalogues and charts
Photographic plates shipped from Peru.
Arequipa, Peru: home of a photographic telescope
Since 1849 - a Gold Rush on the galaxy.
Mahogany tube captures ancient light
Transfixes with silver emulsion,
Daguerre's invention,
and mules cart crates to steamboat prows.
Back in Massachusettes, she pores over the prints,
Measures and calculates luminous spots
Bent and refracted through a
Fifteen-inch lens.
"It's a drag,
but not as bad as the billy-club cops."
She and he met, you see, when riot police stormed
Wilde's University, that sacred place consecrated
for Harvard's young queers:
Professors and students,
Janitors and all
Raised a glass to Oscar to have themselves a ball.
He, meanwhile, took a hand to the crank
(automated pianolas play while you drank),
Perforated paper in rolls of rag stock
Take a steady hand
to punch in each spot;
Do it evenly, you're as good as Stravinsky.
Back at Woody's, they trade their reports:
"Give me a handjob, I'll give you a snort."
"That's not the deal,"
says she to the he
(or was it he to the she?)
"We're here to make music, and do that politely."
"Right, right," said he, and so they proceed;
Exchange of the days makes each move more sprightly.
To the piano store they repair, after
A twist of the lip,
a sip of the drink;
Punch measured holes to make the stars appear ink.
"Calculate the distance between Andromeda and Vega,"
"Transpose the magnitude of an F-sharp harmonic,"
Photon traces become scale races:
Invisible hands work the keys
Make any sound you please
Constellations shift from heavens to their faces.
Here's the rub:
It sounds like crap,
but the trade was a blast.
John Cage, can ya take it?
I knew that you could.
The Winning Numbers
When I was pregnant, we went to a fortune teller
to get the good days of birth.
I'd already had two boys, and wasn't going to deliver.
Now I had to get a C-section.
He looked at the stars, he looked at the moon,
and he said, "That day's not so good."
We picked a good one,
told the doctor, and waited.
Then something happened.
We had to reschedule.
But there was very little time left.
We had to take the first day the doctor could give us.
My husband took me to the hospital, and then
he drove to the fortune teller.
"Today's not too good, either,"
the fortune teller said.
We weren't too worried, because pregnancy, you see
can't be predicted, and on the doctors, you can't depend.
So when there was a car accident,
and the emergency room got full,
we weren't too surprised.
I had to wait a few extra hours.
My husband rushed back to the seer,
who said, "This time is very auspicious."
Good news! Nobody died,
and my child was born.
So my daughter, you see,
she's the lucky one.
Italy, 1968
We hitchiked from the Alps in the north
to Sicily in the south;
slept on a beach outside of Naples
An old woman said that young girls
"can't sleep on a beach";
I guess she didn't trust her own young men
She took us into her house on the hill,
had us sleep on her bed;
her husband had to sleep on the couch
Her mattress was very soft,
and she was very large;
I didn't get much sleep that night
We took a ferry from Ciro Marina
over to Greece;
the fishermen there let us sleep on the beach.
