Thursday, July 17, 2014

In Death We Trust

Cover of the newspaper read, 4 Mexican men stabbed two girls with tennis racquets
Raphael Nadel couldn’t save them, he was tearing off his tee shirt after winning a slam
Stalking Sandra Bullock, I would bring roses to her door, leave her alone forever more
Rock’n Rollers come and go speaking of Lupita Nyong’o, we have come for you Alek Wek
Bombing Sudan, for every dark skinned girl we take, we bring you Terry Richardson
Where have all our black models gone, Roshumba, Naomi, Grace Jones at Studio 54
Some killed for Allah, some killed for Jesus, I spent that summer mourning Jennifer Levin
Oh Jodie, I shot Reagan for you, sitting at a bar called Heaven, smoking underage girls

Getting a skin fade from my Russian barber, he cuts diamonds into the skulls of thugs
Jewish professors from City College, engage them in conversations about The Wailing Walls
Postmodernist machismo, strange men at a barber shop carrying on as blood brothers
Prostitution in basement next door, Hasidic men walk in and out, talking among themselves
At the Projects, word of mouth, selling smack to white professionals, a knife to the throat
Oral sex in the alley ways of Indian restaurants on Lexington Avenue, memories of home
Dead white boys waxed in black scum, their tongues tip to speak like street, ghetto, hood
Bellevue hospital, they are carried in blood soaked, cut up and choked, at night they sleep

Murder of a Hollywood actress, Adrienne Shelley, The Unbelievable Truth, he hung her to die
How blonde were you, Trust, she walked as books circled the sun, light bulbs glowing above her
There was a feather for every cap you wore, your eyes looked onto a world of wordsmiths
With memorable lines that stood golden, as if they were clipped to a clothespin in the sky
Under blue clouds, in an open field, you lay on your back, looking through eyes of a camera
Perfect girl, whistles surrounded you, followed you into empty buildings, loser lounge cafes
There was life in that body, when he tied you up to die, there was still life in your body
You would not just give up to death, you came from true love, fire hearted poetess girl
In your garden we will sing without words, hum without sound, make music drowning

Wednesday, July 16, 2014

Who Among Us Are Stars

Kelly Klein’s Underworld, Hollywood black and white, who among us are stars
Born Ramone, drank up Phillip Seymour Hoffman, made love to Hunter S. Thompson
Thief of hearts, where the red dressed gallery girls go, you’ll find a Madilyn Monroe
Social Media queen, she catches fire from flames that travel through the air
She rides horses, young British teenaged models posing, tank tops, underwear

In Berlin whispers about art hunks and art stars, what will they wear to the Biennial
Facebook friends with suicide rockstar from hell, she almost dies every other day
New York summer, we do drugs and fuck, walk the Metropolitan taking pictures
Night roster, tall legged blondes, fire starters wearing baseball caps back to front

New Jersey, heavy metal station, Puerto Rican boys driving through Lawrence Harbor
Latin lovers for mafia divas, met a sensation on the train, it was her ass I was talking to
Married with kids, she reeled me in, brought me into her bull pen, email love letters
I hadn’t decided if I wanted to die, bullet to the head, but a love affair with a Jersey girl
Woulda had me swimmin’ with the fishes, falling for twins, Mary Kate and Asley Olsen

Look-alikes at Heaven on Earth, I stood crunched and beaten, personified dimentia
Into my Washington Heights apartment they came, flowers in hand, gift for a god
The Olsens, under duress, walking my loft in Michael Kors, wasting time on my futon
Parasitic sociopath, strolled these girls where garbage men of society sat to gamble
In a room with French doors, I videotaped them reading words I had sacrificed for

Took on the persona of defeated girls who came and went, begged me not to fuck them
Trash he heaved out this door were not these beautiful ones, he called himself soldier
Vietnam Veteran, I marched these girls through, he often reminisced about Amsterdam
Black man from old America, when a black man could not look a white man in the eye
He drove around in Porsches with natural blonde women, got high on cocaine and pills
Made love to these women for hours it seemed, watched them cum, counting orgasms

Who among us are stars, he would have given everything to have known my girlfriends
Spent the nights slaying, telling stories about a Jewish girl, like ripping off her flesh
Taking turns having at it, her arms and legs, starving hyenas in a marijuana room
Mad Man of Dyckman Street, horror boys in Rocka Fella, gang raping seventeen
I sat with shirtless skins, long haired white boys, imitating The Allman Brothers

Raised on robbery, Dominican street boys spray paint graffiti on apartment door
God fearing roommate threatened to kill, ran to the East Village, Mondo New York
Stranger than Paradise, white money on Ave. B, Latin girls listen to Slayer on Ave. D
Pink Warhols, barhopping with Dash Snow wannabes, they wear their fame like wigs
Platinum under mirror balls, fallen dead on tracks of the L subway line another day

Romeo Blue, call it desire, gallerist’s girlfriend thinks you’re hot, she wants to make it
Run for your life from the hyper realists, walk like Bond, giving good life to their wives
None of them has ever owned a gun, gotten into a fight, just got beat up for stash
But who among us are stars, brass balled wannamaker, life taker, call it a strange condition
I was born this way, gifted, idolized by the crack whores, painting muses, American ingenues

Thursday, July 03, 2014


They come from Nowhere with Faces like Alexa Chung

They come from nowhere with faces like Alexa Chung, prey on these pretty things, gun them
Put their faces in mud, wash them down with Grey Goose vodka; expel them from school
In their Hell Kitchen apartments under beds are men, sit down, feel a bicep, break a bone
We were once able to sit and wait while they dressed, watched television, read Vice magazine
Now we take turns on them, on the kitchen counter, in the bedroom we are polyarmorous
Come Carouselambra, come play with these play things, make them stand, the Empire State
Statue of libido, fresh fashions from Patricia Field, in these club dresses they go clubbing

You are not celebrity enough for the cover of Vogue, share photos on Twitter and Instagram
Place your German fa├žade on your birthday cake, let the boys lick it off, let them prick off
You were made for business men from Shanghai, in a see through blouse you pose American
With friends you are a Munich girl, fit, protein shook, dancing with Pharell at Calvin Klein
We met at the B&N at Union Square; in the photography section I asked if you were a model
Who are these city girls waiting to be wanted, how you pranced as if it was Christmas Day
Love is a non-Christmas Day where the sun is shining and all we talk about is Tarantino

Django Unchained, poor shop boys eating potato chips, buying paper for hash, Arab sitcoms
No laugh tracks, body sizing, man up or man down, while the cops beat down the block
Post-postmodern queens, your day has come, paint your finger nails blue, braid your hair
Walking blocks of East Harlem, Black American girls imprisoning every man with their eyes
No BDSM, interracial couples at Mexican chop bars, potential hit men await their trials
In this neighborhood they stand at all corners at all hours, rotund black women fishing
I sat with an Estonian girl, looked upon her flesh, her soul, we talked about Dalmatians
Pale girls who watered my conscience, sight of them reading philosophy on the subway

I would love a woman for the sake of her being molded into the shape of the color of love
But it would be a woman of color who unearths this black demon, puts it to rest forever more
From the art girls who smoked cigarettes to the ancient lovers, I would have found desire
White madams trailing African boys into hotels, sleeping with them, husbands left weeping
Making love to promiscuous women in the basement of churches, wild horses, how they rush
Fangs of mad men, thieves, have all gone to sleep, now they hide in corners of unsafe streets
Some rust along the sidewalks, among the greens and concrete, female hustlers who begged
European boys who seduced, let these girls wage their war, I have come to this party alone