Wu Gambinos

I feel strongly about sanctity & wash
With Flex & the oily Ives of March,
Nap hoarsely in florid throat tones,
Am consumed with Bright's disease --
A love flared yesterday in flushing queens
Expired amid diet ginger ale & racy glads.
The sweaty nimbus blasting down on
The new whatever in the ghetto.
You go to those places & you get sick.
I was peopling bald love in nightmares
To rail against the sterile, the Young
Women's Christian Association.
My mama told me: your best friend is mascara
& you don't have to walk a "mascara,"
Get let down like whores misled by angels
in self-defense magazines -- that sort of thing.
I mean last week if you'd watched the Godfather
Come down, a blue-maned prince in speedos
& somebody forgot the acting lesson,
Cried "uncle!" ... Famiglia values --
It's always about recovery isn't it?
I couldn't wrestle a broad
Gestural field into being, failed a pee test
& then they paged me that Irving had been thrown
From his Triumph.