Friday, December 05, 2014

All Catholic School Boys go to Virtual Hell
After Making Love to Italian Mama Leone’s

I sat with the Catholic girls during the spelling bees at ol’ Saint Stephens grammar school
Poor little me, the damaged African boy who knew nothing about pussy,
What the Latin boys called chocha

Was it puppy love when Kathy Florio kissed me, sweat burning around her neck
It was the gang girls I was after, Sandra, Monica and Angela Savastano
They reminded me of the chicks in Faster Pussy Cat Kill, Kill, Kill

I was watching cable pornography then, Al Goldstein, that Santa Claus Jew
He knew what was up or in and out, Screw he called it, yeah that was it
I was watching people screwing, sucking, touching, it was titillating to say the least

Soon after my parents sent me to high school, an all boys parochial school
We wore blazers and ties, I was nicknamed G.Q. for throwing a scarf around my neck
The only girls I saw were the cheerleaders, jumping and screaming out my name

But sex never came until I started college, an art school where I painted nude figures
Plain white girls with little bodies, on white matted paper I drew with pencil
Thinking, imagining until I laid eyes on an Italian Mama Leone, oh the fat of the land

She stood tall, cute and all, the lard of skin rolled off her body but we were doing it
This is what I imagined sex to be, this is what I saw on t.v. that Goldstein jiggy
Her body bouncing on top of me, all that flesh, round bottom, booty, bodacious

So I had conquered a villa, set afoot the makings of a man, the tortured artist
Profound as the heroine punk Kathy Acker, my beloved Kathy I went to see a reading of
It was there I met Sharon, an Israeli diva with breasts, bulbous, oh how they popped

Back at her Christopher Street bedroom that spring season we listened to Elvis Costello
We kissed and fondled, each time she told me to wait, wait for a better time
So on her birthday we attempted the go but it was a no show, failed attempt at lovemaking

I had learned some women want you and when they did they let you know about it
Others gave you sex for free and when they did you better pounce or you’ll regret it
So when I met Christine, that older woman, she fucked my mind free, gave me all I could ever want

She was married but when her husband was away, I would slip in become king for a day
We took our troubles to San Fransisco where in the California Hotel we were legendary lovers
But it was youth I was after having been to the mountain top, I wanted to swim in the ocean

They came in licorice, candy cane, coffee coated lollipops, young girls from Unice high school
Inside the cafes they sat with older men talked about Titian and Van Gogh, posed for pictures
I found my very own Britney Spears who sang like Liza Minnelli, she aspired to be a star

It was occurring to me it wasn’t sex I was after, love was a discourse between two intelligent lives
I found one muse among many, I directed, photographed and painted but love ain’t that simple
Even Roman Polanski and Woody Allen were known for shagging the very actresses they put on stage

The Catholic boy in me felt he had sinned, I went seven years cold turkey, picking flowers for women
But it was the time of the internet, Century’s end, the chat rooms of the world had just begun
In an art gallery I connected with a woman across the pond, she was to be my virtual muse

For ten years we have never laid eyes on each other, the phone calls and emails
Now I find myself on Facebook where I reach out to other virtual girls, wanting not touching
It was one Polish girl I fell for but was it love, telling me she dreamt of me, touching ourselves separately

In lonely rooms, sending vibes across the world, who were we, was it that love had died
But my friends were getting married and having children, my brother had found a girl on Match dot com
I moved to the East Village where the art girls run like wolves, found a Brooklyn girl from MOMA

Our one night stand became a love affair, a typical, normal, get out of the bathroom I gotta pee affair
She brought me to Brooklyn, from Williamsburg to Bushwick to Greenpoint, I had found me a home
We went off to see her mother in New Hampshire but we fought, we fought like artists do

So I took my troubles back to my family where it all began, I made amends with my brother
I watched as my other brother became a father, I was getting on with life, it wasn’t sex I was after
I had found God, it was about self love, love of mother, father, brother, waiting to click like on Facebook

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