"beauticians" poems
beauticians say
that we shouldn't sleep in our make up
but one day we'll be sleeping forever
and then
morticians will say
makeup is what we need
for our eternal sleep
May 25, 2013
May 25, 2013 at 8:23 PM UTC
that’s the thing with those trophy wife types,
never really mandible in *** like a jaw ought to be,
too stiff, too anorexic model type:
pooch pooch a handbag full of duck quack pouts of the lips.
i like mandible women, scary scarred women,
the types that will grow into fond babushkas
and cook you a broth.
ah all this crap with daddy longlegs walking into a paparazzi
web of flashes is ruining the red carpet,
i was about to frizz it up into cushion afro softness
that would be quicksand for high heels.
i need blotches i need survival skills that hold the skin together,
every wrinkle, every passing jest of “irrelevance,”
every amulet glow of feeling through the kaleidoscope of depression,
jet-lag i call it, although i rather call it trombone,
with the numbers it was bound to happen, leaving the mammalian
kingdom and entering the insect kingdom, it was bound to happen,
the lost identity tiling the earth, ploughing the eardrum for symphonies,
it was just waiting... just waiting... like a spider waiting
with the flies of the urbanisation of green & green...
can’t change my mind... blotches on skin and bulges of missing protein
on the hips... perfect girth for child rearing...
i don’t like perfect... it’s supposed to have an aesthetic aura of an art
gallery... instead it has an aesthetic aura of hygiene of a hospital;
i arrested all the beauticians while talking to the paediatricians
painting my nails with u.v. liquorice in this hospital of hygienic looks
but unhygienic romping pompoms that swayed man to chlamydia.
Oct 18, 2015
Oct 18, 2015 at 11:14 AM UTC
We're eating jellyfish
We're crashing oranges
We're bleeding evidence
We're smashing elements
We're erecting animals
We're subtracting syllables
We're electing cannibals
We're extracting visceral
We're worshipping magicians for a piece of the pie
We're recruiting musicians for a sound from on high
We're creating beauticians for a smack on the thigh
We're repeating contritions for an act un-divine
We're poking and prodding as we sing lullabies
We're rocking and rolling as she shifts to the side
We're planting and plowing as the baby lays quiet
We're twisting and shouting from the vat where we writhe
Rockabye baby, you've sure grown up fast
Let me embrace you, before I suffocate you
Rockabye baby, you've sure grown up fast
Let me cradle you, before I blast you away
Nov 19, 2011
Nov 19, 2011 at 8:50 PM UTC
Most days of the year a visit here
would involve a rinse blow and trim,
but on Halloween it’s a whole different scene
As the Queens of the night wander in.
Our regular staff has this day off-
It helps keep their heads in the zone.
To help “Jason” and “Freddie” get themselves ready
We’ve beauticians from good funeral homes,
If you wish to appear as a zombie or Ghoul
These girls will help get your “Freak “on
By the time you stagger up out of your chair
You’ll look like you’re long dead and gone.
With a wicked gleam they will paint your *** green-
You may fear it won’t ever come off.
Some bolts on your neck and, oh what the heck,
You can tell folks you’re Boris Karloff.
If a ghost is your quest you will be most impressed
You will look just like Lizzie the Queen
It’s quite the parade as they head out our door
To march in the West village scene.
“You look Boo-tiful dears”, I say to all here
As we all celebrate Halloween.
x
Nov 2, 2014
Nov 2, 2014 at 3:27 PM UTC
the two play tic-tac-toe by prison correspondence. the mutual doctor they once met through is now famous for being there when god was in labor. I love my research when it brings me to my mother’s stone because my mother’s stone is without epitaph and because beside my mother’s stone is one engraved with a phone number which predates what everyone is doing. I call the number and nothing. the two unfold a couch into a bed and go their separate ways to check email. their little devil details the car that didn’t get away. I want this little devil so badly it murders the actor I look like. the two stand in front of a movie poster and stand there just as they’ve planned. a beauty shop closes its doors sending beauticians into a street crowded with beauticians for open carry. I send Emily to search for Emily when Emily was pretty.
Jun 16, 2014
Jun 16, 2014 at 2:38 PM UTC