Sunday, October 23, 2011

Chimes Chinoiserie

Chimes Chinoiserie

Strange Lips
Tricking on Chimes
Window Shopping
A Tricky Knot
Wrapped Up in Fog
A Big Slut
Louche Rendezvous
Trapped Thing
Go Down Daughter
A Life Lost
Sunday Morning
Bette Davis

Strange Lips

“strange with women”
—John Wieners,
“Strange,” Ace of Pentacles

it’s so strange with women—
even with ardent fag hags
when they find it out

that you’re a fag—
and you suck dick rather
than doing cunninglingus

they don’t kiss you—
not anymore on the lips
those cocksucking lips

Tricking on Chimes

“and like stars
fell on Alabama”
—John Wieners,
“Long Nook,” Ace of Pentacles

so I took him upstairs—
into the apartment there
on chimes by campus

i got him undressed—
his waist was thin and
his armpits were shaved

the traffic down below—
his wrists & angles tied-up
to the brass bed posts

and when the stars fell—
some landed on alabama
others on my lips

Window Shopping

“they open by themselves”
—John Wieners,
“Windows,” Ace of Pentacles

my apartment on chimes—
its windows open out onto the
street, some scraggly magnolias

some reddish ridges—
without grass next to cars
parked by the side of campus

it’s a vieux carre night—
looking out after a game
in the huey p. long stadium

young drunks hang around—
outside the tavern & pool hall
some of them are cute

i leave the window open—
it’s a picture window with words
poems as poems as flesh

There aren’t any connections—
And yet I’m hooked to the humid
night who needs a telephone?

the windows open themselves—
one of them leans on shadows
instead of daylight sundials

the tower crumbles down—
into the street, his armpits make
me faint in the maroon moonlite

A Tricky Knot

“there’s a knot”
—John Wieners,
Ace of Pentacles

she’s got this tricky knot—
in the middle of her forehead
she can’t think when it’s tight

she’s tried to untie it—
but it only happens in bed
with a real cute number

it won’t go away—
until she gets the guy off
could breughel paint her?

there in venice—
in the bottom of a lurid
gondola with tadzio?

Wrapped Up in Fog

“with the mist miles
out on the Pacific Ocean”
—John Wieners,
“Wrapped Up in an
Indian Blanket,”
Ace of Pentacles

willa cather must’ve known—
her book of prairies and love
poems for spanish johnny

gertrude stein back in sf—
no there in oakland there
imogen cunningham photo

chimes morning coffee—
my faulkner class or stay
in bed with the kid?

A Big Slut

“Lizard under the stone”
—John Wieners,
“At Big Sur,”
Ace of Pentacles

night of the iguana—
lizard in bed tonight
slithering down his leg

lizard tied up tight—
in the hammock night
pepe, pedro & ava

lizard under the sheets—
birds in the morning light
my mouth full of pubes

Louche Rendezvous

“lovers say goodbye”
—John Wieners,
“At Big Sur,”
Ace of Pentacles

getting up early—
a dog barks just once
down the block

a morning class—
there in allen hall
going down on moses

lovers say goodbye—
without words their eyes
on the rising sun

Trapped Thing

“Gasping for breath”
—John Wieners,
“A Poem for Trapped Things”
Ace of Pentacles

he’s got a blue flame—
down there where it bends
and wants to come out

he closes his eyes—
living for the instant when
he shoots his brains out

a red kimono—
spread amidst debris
extending his antennae

an ugly uncut larvae—
knowing it’s a butterfly
he’s weak in the knees

a giant worm in bed—
a caterpillar chrysalis cock
so tenuous, so fine

smoking a cigarette—
pulling invisible strings
he won’t open his eyes

i do him all morning—
oozing his blue diamonds
down my throat

Go Down Daughter

“go down daughter”
—John Wieners,
“The Waning of the
Harvest Moon,”
Ace of Pentacles

go down daughter—
her heart tells her blue
time for another blow-job

sunset, light in august—
she’s got a big daddy waiting
sprawled there in bed

it’s time to rob heaven—
time to rob the grocery store
hunger makes her lips ache

she needs to plug it in—
her tongue into a light socket
up his nice tight asshole

A Life Lost

“the same pauses”
—John Wieners,
“For Marion,”
Ace of Pentacles

just seeing him—
sometimes on the quad
outside the library

sweeping away—
all the connections in
her heart like the tide

brushing her aside—
like dust or simply dirt
smirking at her hopes

Sunday Morning

“once he was here”
—John Wieners,
“An Anniversary of Death,”
Ace of Pentacles

he was capable of loving—
them all with sweet patience
but their hearts were blind

each sunday at church—
take a right at highland drive
he’s there nailed on a cross

smoking a cigarette—
in the glare of empty air
looking down at them

Bette Davis

“What a dump!”
—Bette Davis,
Beyond the Forest (1949)

my eyes were worn out—
from years of unrequited love
when bette honked her horn

it was the imperatrice herself—
a nine star circle of dominion
hovering over her divine head

the crown of heaven askew—
smoking a cigarette & ready to
claw anybody’s eyes out

a nelly eunuch fanning her—
a scepter, cross and globe on
the cadillac floor, smirking

she had a moustache harelip—
and a whip in her left hand
a bottle of gin in her purse

something was afoot, my dears—
a waft of perfumed sperm caught
my devoted quivering nostrils

her limo mandingo chauffeur—
was simply dinge divoon, my dears
he could drive more than a cadillac

all of hollywood’s bitch queens—
were gathered behind her cape,
this description is inadequate

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