Bryony, Tifflemot, Rink, and Scudari: OTC

by Allen Planz

I have two quirks. One is a green
beabo & the other's
recording things
not otherwise seen
or seeming other than they are
in a moment arriving fresher than death

Three centuries of roman busts
in the Metropolitan show
characterogical descent but we note
coif & epiderm. baldness, acne
well worked over

even when the best gene's bad
inbreeding shows
as in beau peewee me scatah
all set to storm the Maidstone Club
again. Abrasives nearly
skin

the brow one wrinkle less
a media-event. Videos
beat mirrors
for gait, carriage, grace
at benefits for Somalia
no less the Nature Conservancy.
My lip

upwardly mobile
pushes a mustache
into a nostril: sneeze though
& you're cut dead
like Morganthau
nodding over dessert,
whose dentures
hit the plate before his face
kissed the pudding.

Mon toillette, I aint got laid
or invited for Tea this season.
or the last five. Once with Johanna
we went to Palm Beach
for a week of parties.
It was my best time, she told me later.
But I didn't know it then.

Instead of a bust, remember this
of me: I never should have been:
that I had a heart, how shall I say?
too soon occulted. Mia fabbro
why wasn't I born gay? or rich.
if I swished at sixty, I shimmys at seventy.

My friends have seen the yeti
& I have seen eyes full of the neurotoxic substrate
eroding in sleaze we loved. Miami
and Montauk. Or was it the dope?
We loved that too. Hirsute amor fati.

oliphant mux yeats
But beard in beaver I say Bunni's back in town
and brusk mons & muse my way aft
till I hit off of the old gong a spug
& down the LIE the harpies & the bimbos yip.

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