Bessie Smith, Billie Holiday, buckings, erotic poetry, fascination with sodomy, Janis Joplin, Joan Jett, let it burn, night-blooming pervert, sonnet
Suffered. Cheated. Mistreated. Nothing born
in a hothouse. A night-blooming pervert.
All-night pain’s blast furnace. Suck your forlorn
thumb just to keep quiet. “Southern Comfort/
hard fuck skag,” you sang; like Joan and Janis,
Bessie and Billie. Your song drips hot wax,
pelvis-jarring buckings. What is a kiss
compared to this pain? Synapses climax.
You cum all the time. Quietly. Your thumb
in your mouth. Buckings. Let it burn. Let it
burn. “If I can’t/ love myself let it/ burn.”
The sky crackles goes out. Shadow. Sodom.
Dance. Shake the bone-rattle, petite misfit.
Debauchee aslant. Singer of nocturnes.