48. conjoined after parties (TOys at Evelyn Evelyn tour finale soiree)
cracked out dance party youlube screencaps, click for video-tumble (for some reason no photos of sat night have yet surfaced/passed under my gaze, i'm sure we'll be inundated with them and more video soon enough, til' then, enjoy faux art. faux cubist screen caps. yes.)
.
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48. June 19, 2010 (saturday, house of blues, boston)
"You really want to drive down there?" Oh, Lansdowne St.
Sorry officer, i'll toot my circus clown horn and part the sea,
try not to squish too many jolly beer'd Red Sox fans,
though they seem quite keen to hop onto our cerulean caravan
hood. Walter's tentacles are better than hazards.
We thank you, Lord Aykroyd for this our House of Ill
Blues Repute, we wish the eyeliner'd youth of the post-war
trade nation could've come in after 9:30pm. The complimentary
band meal, fish and tits served up by five burlesque
tarts tonight, Dalya Blue on the menu once more. We think
Evelyn Evelyn's pink handbag may do the trick. Sxip we circle
with drum, diver's helmet, uke, and axe during "off with her head!"
Amanda Palmer's in your bed, nomming your blue tutu!
Who you gonna call? TOy busters. Who could resist tasting
the tulle interpretive dance, drunken front row ballet.
i feel the flash on my bare corset'd bum, and look down
at the retina starbursts bouncing beneath the barstool i stand
upon, bunny ears sinking, clockface damp and upside down
for a little life reversal. (The little brigadier that couldn't, now
flashing tush at the oompa loompa back up dancers,
the elegant white rabbit sweats through polar bear stole.)
Good thing we thrive on venues we shouldn't be allowed inside
to goose one another with rouge in the pukey basement restrooms,
handicapped stalls we claim for green rooms, knickers over garters.
Red handprints all over this restaurant.
week7: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5
http://locksmithy.livejournal.com/tag/poem-a-day
archived on poetesss.tumblr: week1 - week2 - week3 - week4 - week5 - week6
weekly archives ~ http://poetesss.tumblr.com/tagged/poem_a_day
.
.
48. June 19, 2010 (saturday, house of blues, boston)
"You really want to drive down there?" Oh, Lansdowne St.
Sorry officer, i'll toot my circus clown horn and part the sea,
try not to squish too many jolly beer'd Red Sox fans,
though they seem quite keen to hop onto our cerulean caravan
hood. Walter's tentacles are better than hazards.
We thank you, Lord Aykroyd for this our House of Ill
Blues Repute, we wish the eyeliner'd youth of the post-war
trade nation could've come in after 9:30pm. The complimentary
band meal, fish and tits served up by five burlesque
tarts tonight, Dalya Blue on the menu once more. We think
Evelyn Evelyn's pink handbag may do the trick. Sxip we circle
with drum, diver's helmet, uke, and axe during "off with her head!"
Amanda Palmer's in your bed, nomming your blue tutu!
Who you gonna call? TOy busters. Who could resist tasting
the tulle interpretive dance, drunken front row ballet.
i feel the flash on my bare corset'd bum, and look down
at the retina starbursts bouncing beneath the barstool i stand
upon, bunny ears sinking, clockface damp and upside down
for a little life reversal. (The little brigadier that couldn't, now
flashing tush at the oompa loompa back up dancers,
the elegant white rabbit sweats through polar bear stole.)
Good thing we thrive on venues we shouldn't be allowed inside
to goose one another with rouge in the pukey basement restrooms,
handicapped stalls we claim for green rooms, knickers over garters.
Red handprints all over this restaurant.
week7: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5
http://locksmithy.livejournal.com/tag/poem-a-day
archived on poetesss.tumblr: week1 - week2 - week3 - week4 - week5 - week6
weekly archives ~ http://poetesss.tumblr.com/tagged/poem_a_day