RIP-TV / guestbook
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RIP-TV
2002-07-02
Elizabeth Bishop B.
2.8.11 Worcester, Massachusetts / D. 10.6.79 Boston Cerebral Aneurysm
Last dispatches from the Dyke March
An unmade exchange
with the girls from the Long Island Jewish Fisting Club: "My what chic
eyeglasses you wear to match your matching t-shirts!" "All the better
to watch each other fisting you, my dear!" I am out of place here.
beamed from the midst of its translucent caterpillar belly as the
Dyke March shimmied down Fifth Avenue
Unasked of the last
of the ass-in-chaps-revealing biker-style cruisers, a relic in angel wings
feathered and meager and black, very party store (saved from extinctionby
irony!): "Sohave you been out long?"
past the Empire
State Building being phallicagain
"Trannies"a word
that slips my mind from year to year. A butch or two looking good but
then you remember the clinging, the indolenceno matter what they say they
always dohow fundamentally they crave the La-Z-Boy and the good woman
bringing. . .whatever. I'm not bringing it.
past the birthplace
of Positive Thinkingthrough bawdy serenades
Harmonizing beside
their big fading banner outside Marble Collegiate, the men of Church
Ladies for Choice impress as a dwindling core supported by last minute
phone calls (untapped: "So WHAT if they don't APPRECIATE usI'm doing this
for ME!") and half-measure drag. When the holy eunuchs of the ancient
matriarchal world tired of choir duty, they might have let the same
mechanical edge creep into their praise-songs; this one concludes, to the
tune of My Country 'Tis of Thee: "Send her Victoria, Mary and
Gloria, She'll lick clit on the floor with ya, God is a dyke!"
I mean, God Save the Queen.
between the canyon
banks above Chelsea, pooling with late afternoon
shadows.
My view from inside an urn carved out of air like
alabaster my view of the female figures pressed in relief on its
sanded walls: forests of limbs fixed at rest or in postures of
flinging; orchards of novelty haircuts and bare-shorn skulls;
complications of contour effected by heartbreak and piercing full on,
they're still silhouettes to me. And I can see all the fake cocks they
left at home.
Last transmission before contact's lateral abandonment at 25th
Street, down which hollyhocks beckoned.
Oooh whispers! What
is everybody whispering? Shirts off at 23rd Street! Good Godlooking
aroundI don't want to see that! Hollyhocks, and people in
saris.
Consolation Site: MorbidAnd PinskyBut
Irresistible
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