fumbles through a wooden prayer
surrenders to the wistful smiles
its beauty - passed on by the sober and the sane -
flickers like a billboard.

geezuz

watched a handsome mohel
take the romper off
hissed
an eerie clash of cultures
before the break of dawn

tossed an offertory dime
waved at the congregation
bowed before the shrine
and left the flaunting party
for nightlife scenery.

In response to "The New Morality"

I am writing you to express
how strongly i detest
the way you portrayed my home
in your middle-class newspaper column.

Although we welcomed you attendance
at the modest party i threw the other night,
everybody knew
you didn't belong there
the moment you entered my beautifully crafted beach house
in your pin-stripe suit.

i offered you a comfortable flannel shirt
because i know about the importance
of mingling
for an undercover journalist
yet you insisted that our fashion
would hurt your eyes and burgoise mind.

so you exerted the charms
of a slave of the working class
- as the spitting image of the pool entertainment girl
you took a pitiful fancy in.

of course in any other context
you would volunteer to declare
that nudity should be exclusive to Vegas and pay TV.

So i find it remarkable
that you would make it your mission
to put the word on the street
that you met a unique pack of hypocrites
when you came to my haven of recreation
as a suppressed teenage werewolf
craving to push the button
or rather,
with regards to your anxious nature,
have your buttons pushed
by a 20-year-old pole dancer champion-

a picture of the negative effects
slave ownership imposes on the simple-minded man.

talk about the corruption of economic superiority.

so when you woke up inexcusably sober
on my lawn chair in the afternoon sunlight,
you ran off very much like a scared cheetah
that had just been caught fornicating with the lioness.
when you pulled your white toyota out of my driveway
you gave the gardener an embarassed wave (you had killed some of my tulips)

and later that day you pulled yourself together
and wrote up the tale of how your respectable
married-with-children-ivy-league status
detests the insencerity of the dissolute nouvelle vogue society.