Selling the Sweet Stuff
(For Anna Nicol and Me)
You’ve got the chronic magnetic
Spilling from that bodice
I’ve got talent
Dragging across wood and paper
We both need a shill to sell
These delicacies.
Slipping in to hot pants
And vinyl boots
Strutting in the rough parts
Gleaming in front of pimps
In tasteful gray
We share the lime
Of the light.
Whose birthday is it?
Who’s getting the cake?
Along with the pats on the back?
Who is getting thrown through
Star spattered curtains?
This is always followed by the bath in the sty
Circled by floating
Feces and money.
There is the sleep without night
And the night without sleep
Headlines in floating algae parades
Of whiskey spills and drug raids.
When we are through
Rolling in black blanketed visions
Of the many clawed applause
And the detours
Across oil slicked entrails
And the joyless appetites
That that entails.
You may step up now
Friends
Friends for a night
Friends for a minute?
Fiends who leave
At the first
Smell of pig’s breath.
You may sneer at your fork
And knock your plate
Off the table
But the only game in town
Is to astound
And warble your little song
Before leaving the stage
Flash your breasts
Then vent your rage.
There is the ethereal smile
Smoking and blowing it all away
Both the rise of the flaming glow
And the out of tune close of the play.
Joshua Kight 6/2/07