Mr. Quaalude

30 Sep

—————

Mr. Quaalude

(for Anim)

 

Mr. Quaalude

say something to the audience

something new

you already paid for the new suit

got paid for the gig  

talk about me

about my conjugal visit with my old bitch, Depression

talk to me like a gabby shrink

talk to me about her

my chemical cartoon

my busy, dizzy moon

my funeral festoon

tell them all the details

about the way that I ripped her clothes apart with my teeth and claws

about how she had to walk out naked from our little room

shivering and wet

celestial and concupiscent

tell them about the dead libertines that were the rock stars of their days

that wrote verses about orgies and plays about boisterous erections

my friends don’t believe that they ever existed

don’t believe that Papa showed off his chest hair to reporters

was commissioned to look for SS subs by the US government in Cuban waters

that Mailer used to punch party guests in the face after too much whiskey

that Kerouac used to publish three criticisms for one bad book

mostly in anonymous pseudonyms

that Fedya looked prison death in the face

that Ames dated Apple

that our clothes are all smoky and rough

and that the unification of intellectual thought

like barbarism

isn’t elitist

but a sensual logic meant to breathe and grow outside of the constraints

of underfunded education.

Mr. Quaalude

to be honest

I don’t know how to end this poem

because it’s not really a poem

but a diet

I’ve been skipping meals to hasten my metabolism with caffeinated bourbon

and now I’m writing out of lack of exercise

my punctuation has gone to shit

and my guts feel golden

and rusted

and rusted

and rusted

and immensely lyrical

like yesterday morning  

 ————

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Jack Tsoy Tumult

Morose Pontifications and Other Poetic Ramblings


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