Tzara
Continental
- Joined
- Aug 2, 2005
- Posts
- 7,661
DetourBack in the day when we were young and lithe
we danced like mad to turn the beat around.
Spoon up the nose, lucite heels, spandex blithe,
now we limp, wheeze, groan--
Hey! Turn down the sound!
What's that up my nose? A lil Vasiline.
My left nostril's been fucked since eighty-four.
Slow that boogie down, this old disco queen
has hips that don't move so good anymore.
My brickhouse done crumbled like cheap plywood.
I used to be young but now I'm learnin
When you're out late not eating like you should,
your heart and feet will be burnin, burnin
Damn I used to be one glittering fox.
Whadja say sonny? Oh. Make mine Maalox.
A little Vaseline, a replaced hip,
A Maalox cocktail? If you hear The Sound,
Right on this bare and empty dance floor, stripped,
My big-haired baby, I would lay you down.
(Though at my age, I'd probably fall asleep,
My snoring likely killing any mood.)
I know, I know. I've promises to keep,
And keep I will. I've no wish to be rude,
Just steady in the face of danger, like,
Oh I guess, zombies—hungry and undead.
Because they're zombies, they all look alike:
Perpetually needy and unfed.
This poem, so far, has had no S&M.
Nor shall it, I think, for this is its End.
.