WILL YOU, WON'T YOU?
Now these travel potions have given me a headache,
and I've got so much more to go. Mileage such as this
before me can't be just clicked off on a meter - it doesn't
just go 'forward', you see. It's lethal too, and runs sideways
into me - makes depth and density, stuff I have to trouble
through. I'm a hard-traveling man. Will you? Won't you?
-
Take your clothes off on the landing; it's okay. Just stand
there, let me look. I can think of five thousand things to do
to you - like some eastern guidebook through all that loam
of text and sex and practice and heft. But I won't. It's better
this way - and far easier too. I like that smile you patter
with before you speak. You patter with before you speak.
Will you? Won't you? I'll be in New York tomorrow.
-
Every museum wants a miracle mile. Have you ever noticed?
All that ransom, all those Jasper Johns motifs, and the broken
Axel's castles of the artworld - fucked-up, sex-pot women
prancing around; gay jujubee men with their funny, round
glasses and little flat asses. What the hell is this diorama I
am watching - all of Hades now come to life?
Will you? Won't you?
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