Tag Archives: fame

beard and loathsome in las vegas

how different might things have been if done over
should for instance the leather-panted lizard king have
forgone that fateful fatal bath (his last) in paris
in the summer of ’71
would he (hale and hearty) instead have begun
a resident party in vegas, baby!
these to be his sequined, white pant-suited
gone-to-pasture years — a dionysian rival
to flabby elvis? although more than likely passing
for another boozeded-up, bloated balladeer wooing
the ma & pa set fresh in from good ole okie
o, it’s just so loathsome at the top!
meanwhile popping uppers by the dozen
to kill the neon-lit whoredom of it all or is it rather
that jim saw this vision soaking in his lukewarm tub
while still yet wet behind his ears
under the watchful eye of his patron angels
— baudelaire and beer — (not yet thirty)
and doing so tragically chose to protect his cult of
youthful glory by orchestrating his own
unsung burial at sea?


living the lie/life

this is a poem for all of life’s extras
and bit players who still dream of
one day playing leading women
and men but who for now live in the
margins of the script proper, acting
as human scenery and only one level
up from the prop department although
still yet mesmerized by the idea of
seeing their names appear in lights like
moths to the fame of their own devising