#burlesque
I am a French horn, a bottle neckless hourglass and butterscotch tape
You're a red harp with veins painted on the side
When I come home, you see me as an acrylic heap with chips of lead and belly aching homing words
Scotch sticks and smoke smells and the stitches are uncomfortable on my neck where you often warm your hands
I am a masquerade of shellfish clamoring on about the epitome of burlesque humor
You’re alien to anything other than sourdough and design
I have structured my thesis around burlesque and you fail to see the humor
When I fear the apologists
You fear the escapists
I am the tigers of the world, borrowing viciousness
You’re a long pause, loved and disquieted, painting my stripes as veins
I’m freaked out now because the apologists are escaping and the escapists are apologizing
At this clear impasse, you pity and press on until my fingers at the French horn drain to my sides
I am an island in a puddle of sand
Jul 16, 2020
Jul 16, 2020 at 1:14 PM UTC
It’s Forbidden!
ѕυcн a dιѕgrace!
dιѕgυѕтιng!
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a caroυѕel oғ daѕтardly praтer;
тнeιr ιgnorance,
a plagυe υpon oυr lιpѕ.
caѕтιng ғιre тo oυr leттerѕ,
wнιcн тell oυr ѕтory.
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a love ғorged ιn *** noтнιngѕ
ғor тнe world’ѕ eyeѕ,
can noт ever ĸnow.
only тwιlιgнт wнιѕperѕ oυr тrυтнѕ,
a мιѕѕнapen love,
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υnaвle тo вloѕѕoм alongѕιde
oтнer ғlowerѕ,
υnғorтυnaтe ғaтeѕ eмвrace
proclaιмιng a тeмporal never,
yeт.. a reverιe ғorever.
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Mar 3, 2019
Mar 3, 2019 at 12:59 AM UTC
Has democracy irretrievably gone to the dogs?
Every beast congregates here; coyotes to hogs!
Supposedly most selfless of acts
Cover up the worst and the inept.
Crocodile tears apart, they hanker only for populist tag!
Nov 2, 2018
Nov 2, 2018 at 8:48 AM UTC
If there ever was a golden age
The smile on the cherubim’s grill,
Wistfully look into her eyes,
Devoted to her algorithms---
Like Christine there are no eyes,
Desoto algorithms---if there
Ever was a golden age
She’s sleeping in,
Evolutionarily destroyed by fire---
Mysteriously her eyes go blank,
Blank for all eternity,
If there ever was an algorithm
For the golden age---she was one---
For a quarter of eternity or an hour
Show her the pile of stones
The men will use
Saints go under the bridge
While over the bridge go the lions---
Her bones thick and mammalian
If there ever was a golden age of stripping,
She was there, her ideas and sciences
dawning on troglodyte mankind---
Dec 21, 2017
Dec 21, 2017 at 10:20 PM UTC
Where is the rain
When my tears wanna flow away?
What good is sunshine
When my heart is full of grey?
Tell me why
Tell me how
Tell me when
Will the clouds form?
Tell me where to go
Where I can just hide my face
Where are my feathers?
I need them to show him
What lies beneath – every bit of –
Skin that’s trapping me
My eyes, his glare
My fingers through his hair
He wants more and more
But he can’t feel what I can feel
Tell me why
Tell me how
Tell me when
Will the clouds form?
Tell me where to go
Where I can just hide my face
Tell me now
Through tears of smiles
I just want this to be real
‘Coz I really do not want to hide my face...
Nov 11, 2015
Nov 11, 2015 at 1:30 AM UTC
Chanel No.5 fills the air.
My bleary eyes make out the outlines of a stage.
I catch sight of athletic contours of her body, gold dust covered skin shimmering under a flood of exclusivity.
Chic, Elegant with a touch of class.
All senses awakened by her salacious seductive moves.
Tassels and feathers add to sensual illusion and my eagle eyes are transfixed on her snake like movements.
Sugar **** takes centre stage!
May 19, 2015
May 19, 2015 at 3:39 PM UTC
His eyes,a colder mint blue than you could imagine.
Her hair a darker colour than her soul.
When they collide,
sparks fly,
and they discontinue existence.
She shines when he stares,
He floats the way she falls.
They are so backwards but they're going in the right direction.
Feb 23, 2015
Feb 23, 2015 at 1:42 PM UTC
She walked through the throngs of dancers
They looked like in their drinks they’d found answers
A young girl yelled her over and bought her a drink
Sometimes the job was hard but everyone had their financier
They took a picture and she left to get dressed
Shading, contouring, hair curlers, and glitter were her enhancers
She stood at the edge of the stage and heard her intro play,
As they shouted her name, she realized that this profession wasn’t a cancer.
And though it was a hard life, she loved every moment,
They kissed her hand and clapped with joy, and there she found her answers.
Feb 21, 2015
Feb 21, 2015 at 11:50 PM UTC
Baby-dolled eyes,
and glamor velvet
encircles
with a cruel femininity;
the darkest pin-up
of your
diamond-dazzled
dreams always takes
it up a notch!
It’s all burlesque
and whispers
when you come into her
world of mirrored
desire that
plays just behind
her lips;
that dances just behind
her rhinestone mask.
The vampiress of
merlot, cigarettes,
and lace
always remembers
her prey;
a black-widow’s
striptease, cold
and calculated.
Again, she delights
in the fact
that she has broken
another man
she invited
in to her ruthless
masquerade.
Nov 19, 2014
Nov 19, 2014 at 1:05 PM UTC
There is a blood clot in the center of Imagination Street,
I can feel it.
It blocks the path that follows through Creative Avenue
where cars horn, roar and protest, curse and smother with
a simple look of “Move the **** on!”
And yet no paramedic can remove the jumper that
lays from austere insipid life.
It's a victim of routine they say, jumped from the nearest skyscraper
hoping to touch the sky but fell miserably on to the streets.
There is an aberration stretched over the streets, I can feel it
because it's me.
Sep 8, 2014
Sep 8, 2014 at 11:58 PM UTC
A serenade to the crowd
The applaud white noise to my ears
As I perform to please
To tempt, to tease.
Divine indulgence
A guilty pleasure they seek
I undress myself with grace
I pout, I pose with ease.
Its only art
And baby I play a character so well
A show-stopper
They swoon, but they never tell.
Aug 19, 2014
Aug 19, 2014 at 8:19 PM UTC