Peter Magliocco writes

Paris Hilton in Drag

The ambience articulates metric verses of hair
for the undead, marking time
quietly until dawn when
my spore-infested hands
reached for this space-creature
craning her alabaster throat 
in the reveries of a mystery writer's psychosis,
where self-delusion is everywhere
simply a multifarious space
of darting ions
daring us.

"For all the ladies of Lima are
famed for their beauty and coquetry,"
Gaston Leroux once wrote for old tongues
(or parchment yet prescient
with his gothic, viral-spun visions)

Behind the veil of blackness I violated,
his decree blossomed into a breached glimpse
of many Vegas escort girls penetrating
my hackneyed porn epics & eons
a frazzled pen once thrummed to

Here in the gilded town of cheap desire
all changed under the legal influence
as women became men (& vice versa),
until the certainty of sexual identity
lost itself in some hip ambiguity

Beyond the ken of once private parts
all must vanish someday into microchips
masquerading as fig leaves no longer.

Spare me the genome's devolution
from once beautiful old world matters,
my severed crimson fingers still lunge
into a complicated nether-space
to plunder the alien female's body

with imagistic wordplay
bred by depravity
the neon moon
explodes.

The Simple Life Goes to Camp --"14"