Sunday, October 16, 2011

Hotel Dixie

Hotel Dixie

Hotel Dixie

State Capitol at Night
Femme et poupée
Pulitzer Prize Winner
The Moviegoer
Walker Percy
State Capitol Boasts
Hotel for the Dead
Old Tricks Never Die
Pastiche Portrait

Hotel Dixie

“Sameness flummoxed stars,
sullen, storm-cloud effects
above taquerias and
massage parlors.”—Wayne
Koestenbaum, Hotel Theory

hotel dixie has plenty of cute cocoa boyz—
something sweet for when lana feels rather
sulky at nights, the concierge smirks

lana’s big smegma lips smeared with—
gangster desert love somewhat more slutty
than director douglas sirk wants to explore

lana prefers a nice dry double-martini—
when she’s discussing her hoodlum boyfriend
from las vegas, about how big his gun was

State Capitol at Night

“Postcards, 3 for 25
or 2 for 50, some t0
cents each”
—John Wieners,
“A Different Momentum,”
Behind the State Capitol

she likes this one postcard—
it supplies her with sepia memories
those huey p. long blowjob dayz

slow cinematic flashbacks—
her snaky-headed medusa memory
writhing beneath art deco skyscraper

deadpan, of course, down there—
on her knees grabbing any opportunity
to seize a creole kid with a big dick

Femme et poupée

”somewhat wanton”
—John Wieners,
“Second Poem for Agnes
Varda’s Plastic Walk-Up,”
Behind the State Capitol

suddenly a long distance call—
reportage on how a blood bath
is erupting in a biarritz bathroom

posthumorously flabbergasted—
she peremptorily straightens
out her chic odalisque profile

a rather alarming spectacle—
barbara hutton busted by campus cops
for soliciting in the allen hall tearoom

Pulitzer Prize Winner

“close to know
this, I suppose”
—John Wieners,
“A Different Momentum,”
Behind the State Capitol

she was rather infamous—
times-picayune pulitzer bigtime
baby with a vieux carré condo

her cheesy big easy noir fame—
gazing down from her wrought-iron
balcony at the unmanageable hordes

tourist onlookers drunken desperation—
seeking some kind of southern decadent
solace for their second-hand genealogies

The Moviegoer

“kindled embrace
of past observation”
—John Wieners,
“R & R Sack,” Behind
the State Capitol

she can’t go to those old—
movie theaters anymore because
the peasant bouquets choke her

she feels like she’s drowning—
hippopotamus victim sliding down
into a river of congolese ennui

hollywood’s once joyous, rich—
sumptuousness seems so lame now
past boudoir ecstasies so gauche

Walker Percy

“I am tormented
by the memory”
—John Wieners,
“For What Times Sleep,”
Behind the State Capitol

she taught a semester or two—
depressed, desultory, unhappy
like binx bolling in “moviegoer”

she had an office in allen hall—
appointments with her revolved
around why her father killed himself

why her mother drove off a bridge—
maybe that’s why binx bolling’s aunt
seems so “lanterns on the levee” gay*

*William Alexander Percy, a lawyer
from lawyer, planter, and poet from
Greenville, Mississippi who adoped
Walker Percy after his father’s suicide.

State Capitol Boasts
Hotel for the Dead

“rates are fixed”
—John Wieners,
“Hong Kong Boasts
a Hotel for Dead,”
Behind the State Capitol

nestled among the steel—
and glass rooms of the kingfish
skyscraper sits the dixie hotel

all the residents are dead—
nothing new to most politicians
waiting to resurrect once again

the capitol coffins-home servers—
as a temporary resting place for the
living dead until the next time

Old Tricks Never Die

“that guy in the state house”
—John Wieners,
“For What Times Sleep,”
Behind the State Capitol

most rooms aren’t numbered—
names like “longevity room” or
“room of quietude” exist instead

so very haunting to know that—
some of the more undecipherable
occupants are my old tricks

these were the horsy having-been—
over-ridden young hustler boyz
a bring-down thinking about them

Pastiche Portrait

“when no words come”
—John Wieners,
“Hiatus,” Behind the
State Capitol

resting in her pastiche pillow—
film noir dayz that make her blue
it’s all she can possibly do

smokes in bed leaning—
back against soft pillows with
peacock designs, golden swans

writing poems all morning—
sipping tea, letting dragon lilies
snap when they're in a foul mood

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