Wednesday, October 31, 2012

How To Be A Fag


—for David Halperin

Let the fags fuck—
And the Christians burn

Just because you think you’re Str8t—
Doesn’t mean you’re Hetero-normative
Fags learn how to be Fags, my dear
From other Fags not Str8ts, honey

Fags tell us what we think we know—
Whether we’re Bubble heads or not
What is the role of Faggotly, dearest
When it comes to this gay identity? 

Well, just ask Bette in Baby Jane—
About those rats down in the cellar
Hollywood Babylon has done more
To pervert Fags than anything else

Grande operas and gay musicals—
An well as campy Diva worship
Drag, muscle culture as well as
Style, Fashion and Interior Design

Well, anyway, I may be a Faggot—
And not a Hetero-normative Hunk
But at least I’ve gone beyond the
Dreary deary Mildred Pierce routine

Tuesday, October 30, 2012

In Cold Blood


—Richard Avedon's contact sheets 
from 1960 photo session 


There’s always been—
I suppose a certain hoodlum
Element to the American West

The Dick Hickock types—
Robbing, killing, hanging
Around the Western scene

Where else could young—
Prison con-artists go but
“Go West, youngman!”

Avedon’s portraits capture—
With amazing accuracy
These American West killers

Richard Avedon, Portraits
Portfolio: Dick Hickock 


Cocky Dick Hickock—
His name oozes with
American West violence

He possesses that—
Sullen young hoodlum
Insolent male beauty

A lop-sided face—
Victim of a car accident
His twisted goodlooks

One eye so gimpy—
It both breaks your
Heart and scares you

Richard Avedon, Portraits
Portfolio: Dick Hickock 


These other shots—
Most people don’t get to
See them very often

Or maybe they don’t—
Want to see the look in
Dick Hickock’s eyes

Dick takes along his—
Hired gun killer lover
Perry Smith the Gimp

All the way out to—
Holcomb KS to rob the
Wealthy Clutter family

Richard Avedon, Portraits
Portfolio: Dick Hickock 


Prison life turns—
A man’s sex life into
A twisted tattoo thing

Dick is str8t and—
Like the young stuff
While Perry likes Dick

They end up broke—
Down in Mexico on the
Run after the murders

They get nabbed in—
Las Vegas in a hot car
Truman is waiting

Richard Avedon, Portraits
Portfolio: Dick Hickock 


To Kill a Mockingbird—
Was a lot easier to write than 
Capote’s In Cold Blood

Harper Lee’s novel was a—
Great success story leaving
Truman green with jealousy

Taking the Super Chief west—
Spending long cold nights
In a Garden City motel

Gradually the form of his—
Nonfiction novel took shape
Twisted, gnarled love story

Richard Avedon, Portraits
Portfolio: Dick Hickock 


Perry Smith slowly became—
Truman’s kept man there
Behind those prison bars

Like two lost brothers—
Suddenly discovering each
Other for the very first time

Capote greased the palms—
To get into Perry’s dingy
Prison suite to make love

The nonfiction element in—
The novel In Cold Blood was
The killer’s pouty sweet lips

Richard Avedon, Portraits
Portfolio: Dick Hickock 


They say that when—
You drop you don’t
Feel a fucking thing

But it took 30 minutes—
For their hearts to stop
Beating, strangling them

They also say that when—
Your neck snaps hard in
The Hangman’s tight noose

That a guy shoots his—
Last extra-long spastic
Wad all the way Dead

Sunday, October 28, 2012

Mad Queens in the Attic

The Mad Queens in the Attic

It didn’t take long for—
The Mad Queens in the Attic to
Come swishing down the stairs

Like the Portrait of Dorian Gray—
They’d been cooped upstairs for
Much too long, my dears

But unlike Oscar Wilde’s double—
The new Mad Queens in the Attic
Weren’t tres bashful one little bit

Like Miss Bronte's Wuthering Heights
Girls & the Jane Eyre Madwomen, the 
New Mad Queens liked to flaunt it

They didn’t hide themselves—
Behind a curtain upstairs forever
But instead descended the staircase

Would Dorian Gray’s visage have—
Been so bold as to flaunt herself like
These raving Mad Queens in the Attic?

Now Oxford Press comes out with—
The Mad Queens in the Attic exposé
So shockingly homo transgressive!!!

Queer Theory literary critics are—
Lining up to guzzle Sassafras Tea
And trash this latest QT effrontery

Sunday, October 21, 2012

Mildred Pierce


Ann Bylth
Zachary Scott
Lana Turner
Joan Crawford

Ann Bylth

“Veda, I think I’m really seeing
you for the first time in my life,
and you’re cheap and horrible.”
—Joan Crawford in
“Mildred Pierce” (1945)

I ended up, of course—
In a mildewing version
Of Mildred Pierce

Playing a tres bitchy—
Spoiled-rotten slutty
Little tramp like Veda

Putting the make on—
My Mother’s handsome
Slinky second husband

I was such a whore—
Betraying my lovely
Joan Crawford mother

She couldn’t believe it—
When she found me
Sucking off Zachary Scott

Zachary Scott

Once you’ve seen one—
You’ve seen them all
The male gigolo types

Zachary Scott playing—
Monte Beragon getting
Just what he deserved

For calling me just a—
Rotten little tramp
When he was one too

Mommy Dearest—
Played such a simply
Divine Blanche after

I pushed her down—
The stairs in her nice
Little old wheelchair

Lana Turner

One thing’s for sure—
Both Joan Crawford and
Lana Turner were alike

They both had rotten—
Daughters just like me
It was such a shame

Sandra Dee tricked—
With John Gavin in
“Imitation of Life”

Just like mulatto—
Slutty Susan Kohner
Betrayed Juanita Moore

I was no different—
Just a rotten little tramp
Like the other girls

Joan Crawford

Queer Theory Queens—
Are trashing & dishing
Me behind my back

They’re saying I’m—
Either outmoded or
The epitome of camp

I used to be a Diva—
In movies like Whatever
Happened to Baby Jane.

Bette Davis and me—
We were the Queen Bees
Of Hollywood Babylon!!!

Even tho trashy imitators—
Like Faye Dunaway try to
Mime Mommy Dearest

Thursday, October 18, 2012

Letters Back Home


Letter to Amy Jane
Letter to Two Lesbians
Letter to Anita B. Rice
Letter to Wood Bloxom
Letter to Loretta Langley
Letter to Ed Price
Letter to Richard Doxtator
Letter to Tom Jaggard
Letter to Larry Ballard
Letter to Theresa
Letter to Connie

Letter to Amy Jane

I remember back then—
When some Olpe kid broke
My poor faggy lonely heart

Mommy Dearest would—
Console me with stories
About her cute boyfriends

Getting out her 1942—
Emporia High Re-Echo
Yearbook & telling me stories

About Bloxom, Price and—
Anita B. Rice as well as all
Her cute past boyfriends

Two marriages later—
She was still looking for
Some kind of Happiness…

Letter to Two Lesbians

My favorite teachers like—
Miss Hillerman who taught
Art at Lowther Junior High

Vina living with her lover—
Miss Mildred Kaff who was
My math teacher back then

Both ladies made such a—
Lovely lesbian couple who
Indeed loved each other

They were kind to me—
Like Elsie Pine and many
Other Emporia teachers

They’re the real ones—
Who made the Athens of
The Midwest possible…

Letter to Anita B. Rice

I was simply terrified—
By your sharp pointy
Tear-drop edged Glasses

The way you’d glare—
At me each time I dared
To raise my nelly hand

Trying to answer one—
Of your boring American
History questions for you

Only for you to dish—
“I’m simply appalled
Miss Kelly by your nerve!”

“You should think twice—
Before opening your stupid
Lame-brained Mouth!!!”

Letter to Wood Bloxom

If insults and denigration—
As well as abject racial and
Sexist discrimination ever

Ruled the roost it had to—
Be Wood Bloxom’s eternally
Dreary degrading ugly Mouth

“Somewhere in Kansas”—
He’d opine and complain each
Day looking down at us…

“The sun is shining but—
Not here in nit-wit dumb
Stupid little idiotic Emporia!”

He hated Hispanics and—
Female National Merit
Scholarship Winners…

Letter to Loretta Langley

I had gentle Mr. Stanton—
Teaching me Typing which was
So very important to me

It was the only thing—
In the whole high school
Curriculum that mattered

Typing was the gateway—
To becoming a nelly poet
Doing what I do today

I was so lucky not to have—
That witch Loretta Langley
Rap my knuckles with a ruler

For cruising the goodlooking—
Guys in class instead of doing
My speed typing appropriately

Letter to Ed Price

Your classroom was uniquely—
The only one with laboratories
And tiered seats for lectures

You taught physics & chemistry—
Just like you’d done when my
Mother was there in the ‘40s

You gave lectures standing—
There in class while clacking
Your false teeth up and down

Bored with the same old—
Lectures about this and that
Over those long decades

Mother and I smiled—
Some things just didn’t seem
To change over the decades

Letter to Richard Doxtator

You were new to the racket—
Teaching English hadn’t become
The same old drag each year

You were fresh from KSTC—
And still learning how to write
English like we were doing

Such a complex chemistry—
Both teaching and learning how
To swim in the Sea of Language

An exciting Proposition for us—
The ones interested in writing and
Reading new novels and writers

One time you even got up and—
Walked across our old-fashioned
Desks to wake us Readers up!!!

Letter to Tom Jaggard

When I read Allen Ginsberg’s—
Poem “Howl” in a beat-up City Lights
Paperback edition from 1956:

“I saw the best minds of my—
generation destroyed by madness,
starving hysterical naked…”

I thought of brilliant depressed—
Tommy Jaggard who was living
On the edge there in Emporia

More than just nonconformist—
Living in his basement bedroom
With all his parent’s antiques

His father hated him and his—
Mother didn’t know what to do
And I was maybe his only friend

He tried really hard to fit in—
Went to Reed, joined the Air Force
Even was a mail delivery man

He got married but nothing—
Really seemed to work for him
Despite his incredibly smart IQ 

He ended up in a bathtub—
Slitting both his wrists to bleed
To death, such a terrible waste

Letter to Larry Ballard

Another one that died young—
A National Scholarship Merit winner
Born for MIT it seemed

But he was never that interested—
In physics, mathematics, chemistry
And the whole post-Sputnik craze

David Penny was his MIT roommate—
But Larry didn’t want to be one of
Those Born-Again Christians either

So he came back to KU in Lawrence—
With his own interests in anthropology
And science-fiction dystopias

But he ended up in a missile silo—
Then on a secret mission to Turkey
Got blown outta the sky to smithereens

Letter to Theresa

Yes, I know, sweetheart—
But I hated that shitty awful
Little Cowtown worse than you did

The way people were always—
Walking up to John and saying
Snotty “I’ve got YOUR Number!”

Then there was, of course—
Faggy fey Jimmy Stevens who
Was the fruitcake Cheerleader

Who got away with murder—
Being swishy and all fem with
Those pom-poms & pirouettes

Especially at Basketball games—
The auditorium all sweaty with
Screamy hysterical Mobs

Letter to Connie

No wonder you took—
Miss Howard’s Spanish class
For three years in a row

And there I thought I was—
The only Hispanic queen bee
In that naughty little town

I was desperately in love—
With sexy muscular Arnoldo on
The EHS Wrestling Team…

I loved it when he pinned me—
On the mats in the YMCA gym
And made me scream for more

Then later in the steamy—
Showers of the YMCA when he
Stuck a bar of soap up my ass!!!

Wednesday, October 17, 2012

Santa Fe Romance


Santa Fe Train Station
Emporia’s Little Mexico
La Colonia Trailer Court
Las Casitas Park

Santa Fe Train Station

I’d pick Lopez up at—
The Santa Fe Railroad
Station late at night

He had a day job—
In Kansas City and
Commuted each day

We’d have a late—
Dinner at Blaylock’s
Café quietly together

Then I’d take him—
Home south of the tracks
Down on South Street

He lived alone in a—
Dumpy little trailer
In “Little Mexico”

Emporia’s Little Mexico

Emporia had this dirty—
Little secret that it
Kept all to itself

It had its very own—
Hidden little Mexican
Ghetto there in town

From the 1920’s—
Santa Fe imported and
Hired Mexican laborers

To work the tracks—
The Wheel House and
All the different shops

Cheap housing—
For their big families
No questions asked

La Colonia Trailer Court

They called it Little Mexico—
But the older Hispanics back
Then called it La Colonia

Some stayed when the—
Great Depression came
Doing odd jobs & gardening

Manuel lived alone in—
A Streamlite Travel Trailer
I’d stay overnight with him

He had a crucifix there—
Hanging on the bare wall
Above his ratty little bed

He stared at it at night—
When I was in bed with
Him, sucking him off

Las Casitas Park

There’s a park there
Now where the ghetto
Used to be hidden 

Over the years—
Las Casitas Park has served
As the main location for Fiestas

For car shows, quinceneras—
And basketball tournaments
For meetings and birthday parties

Reunions and rehearsals—
For various Mexican dance groups
Arriba!!! Come rain or shine!!!

Not to mention everyday use—
As a playground for the youth
With its basketball court

Tuesday, October 16, 2012

Perverse Prairie Poetry

Perverse Prairie Poetry

FFA Boyz
Animal Husbandry
Horsy Young Ranchers
Chase County
Vocational Ed
Gothic Americana
Stoic Tricks
Being Natural

FFA Boys

Back in high school—
I found the FFA boyz
To be extremely sexy

So much more macho—
Than the pretend-butchy
Types in letter jackets

Instead of wearing those—
Garish leather red & black
Flashy jock jackets

Showing off their prowess—
As football, basketball stars
The usual muy macho

The FFA boyz were much—
More sedate with corduroy
Blue Eisenhower jackets

Animal Husbandry

Whether or not they—
Were goodlooking didn’t
Make any difference

Even the less handsome—
Primitive-looking guys
Were a real turn-on

They didn’t pretend—
They simply were
Themselves that’s all

Maybe it was their—
Pointy cowboy boots &
Cocky Stetson hats?

Maybe their tight—
Bluejeans all snug and
Comfy with their cocks?

Horsy Young Ranchers

Word got around that—
I was interested in
Horse-breeding stuff

Naturally they knew—
All about it and showed
Me how it was done

I blushed so red—
The first time I saw
A stallion go to town

I got weak in the knees—
He laughed and took me
For a ride on the Range

The Z Bar Ranch kid—
“Can you make a racehorse
Run?” he asked me…

Chase County

After that I gave up—
On jocks after school
The wrestling team ho-hum

How many times did—
I lose my virginity in
Chevy pickups at night?

Strong City became—
Awfully strong-tasting
My horsy hunting grounds

The smell of leather—
The Tall Grass Prairie
The Cenozoic chill

Out there late at night—
Under the starry heavens
Chase County Romance…

Vocational Ed

They hung around—
The Vocational Ed Bldg
Across the street

They were already—
Mechanics with engines
And farm equipment

Cars especially and—
Tuning up pickup trucks
Doing oil changes

Practical stuff—
Young farmers and
Rancher Know-How’s

I was just a novice—
But I was a pretty good
Fast study at things

Perverse Prairie Poetry

I began to lose interest in—
Doxtator opining literature
With Mrs Jaquith & Sullivan

Novels and science fiction—
Just didn’t do the trick anymore
After doing the FFA boyz

I was seriously into—
Hardcore Midwestern realism
And Gothic Americana

The FFA boyz reminding me—
Of stark Grant Woods portraits
& Edward Hopper architecture

I accepted the depressing—
Film noir prairie landscape
Wanting to know more…

Stoic Tricks

It was serious business—
Doing business with those
FFA boyz, lanky ranchers

Sometimes a lonely one—
Spotted at the Lyon Country
Fair so awfully alone

The harder they fought it—
Holding it back as long as
They could, looking away

Those were the kind of guys—
Who lost it all the way
So awfully heartbreakingly

I felt sorry for them—
The way some of them almost
Fainted, it was so intense

Being Natural

Naturally they got—
Used to it but still
Always holding it back

Almost as if they—
Had to struggle to
Not lose their Manhood

But when they did—
It was like getting your
Lips on a Shotgun…

A double-barrel shot—
In the dark in a Chevy
Or Ford pickup truck

The look on their faces—
When they saw me get
Every fucking runny squirt


I wish I could say—
I grew out of it but
That’s just a lie

Some went to work—
For Santa Fe after our
Graduation back then

Some stuck with—
Ranching out there & the
Cattlemen’s Association

Emporia had always—
Been a major shipping
And beef operation

Family farming and—
Ranching continued…
They all got married