I was there when it started
man, you should have been there
February 23
We were on fire, you and me
We wrote history
we set the world on fire
we torched the system
we taught those motherfuckers
You should’ve seen her burn
that democratic idol
temptress of the masses
spreading sickness by her golden tits
She deserved what she got
two tongued tramp
harbinger of our exploitation
powerslave
But what good did it bring us?
February 23
1933
They never caught us
oh no
we set up some communist sucker
to take the blame
But that dim wit
peanut balled
broom lipped
painter
stole our canvas
With crude brush strokes
no sense of perspective
and abominable shading
he ruined our masterpiece
Man, you should’ve seen it
we ruined that Reichstag motherfucker
Burn baby burn
political bollocks inferno
Repeat after me: February 23, 1933
My second go at a New York School poem, because I find the form (well, form…) fascinating. I didn’t want it to be in New York though, and I wanted to give history a try.
My first New York School Poem is called This one’s dedicated to you, love hunter. I love how this type of prompt challenges me to write way outside my comfort zone, and makes me really sit down to write a poem. They are difficult but fun.
I’ve added a video of me performing this one to the bottom of the page. It was shot on April 24 2016, and it’s my first time reading a poem on stage.
Amsterdam, the ancient New York
in the fall of 2001
Red lights, big city
I don’t remember what I wore
(I may or may not have looked like a whore)
You want coke, heroin, Viagra? the little man hissed
And so did the second
and the third
For the life of me I couldn’t imagine what I’d need Viagra for
For one: I’m a woman
For two: I was in heat
I’d heard rumors though
Viagara could make your lips swell
like Mick Jagger
that rock ‘n’ roll cunt
But my panties were tight as they were
and tights are always tight when you’re six feet two
no need to fill them up even more
Scene one: a bunch of transvestites
taking the obligatory walk on the wild side
checking me out for size
– wrong gender
Scene two: a staggering stag party
hanging their cocks out to piss
vomiting at the same time
wetting their shoes
Scene three: lone riders
wanting to ride a white horse
popping pills, cheap thrills, banana bar bills
– what for?
(I still wish I’d remember what I wore)
Would you believe me if I tell you nothing is more boring than the red light district at night?
But I was in heat
and I didn’t know that
yet
People kept a safe distance
for I steamed
my pores evaporating
juice
juice juice juice
We ignored all the french fries,
burgers,
pizza
(a lover’s gotta eat, right?)
and chose a sex cinema instead
Fucking going on
24/7
like there’s no tomorrow
like yesterday wasn’t born
Behind us a plastic bag rustled
the guy took out some tissues
to blow his cock
I guessed
How hot
Not
The action was up and down
up and down
she moaning (not)
him groaning (not)
the director was a master of suspense (not)
Maybe we witnessed a climax, or ten, or none
Maybe Harry met Sally
and Sally met Sally
We had no reason to stay
We had no reason to go
We never touched I think
I would have remembered
or would I?
Amsterdam, Sin City
in the fall of 2001
Red lights, big city
The most boring thing I’ve ever done
(I think I still have that dress I wore
it would have been of more use on a whore)
I enjoyed writing in this strange form so much that I wrote a completely different one, called First we take Berlin. And when I decided to go on stage for the first time, I picked it as the one I’d read. Because I thought it was the most difficult one, and I didn’t mind a challenge on top of a challenge (performing… argh!). It’s here if you want to see it