on killing darlings

Hemingway
who I officially hate
said
"write drunk; edit sober."

And I hate him again.

Stupid man.fights
Stupid boy.
Stupid. Stupid.

And then Faulkner
supposedly said something
about "kill
your
darlings."

No.  I will not.
I cherish every moment.  The sweaty
sick flu virus
the diapers
the

stupid bits.

Cooking macaroni & cheese
and hot dogs
and pudding.

Those things.
Do not make room for deep
poetry.
But are,
in them their they
very selves:  Poems.

On Being A Drag Queen, trapped in a woman's body

Watching the queens
on bravo
and remebering my childhood of drag queens
and YMCA
at the bar,

when my mama would bring me
coke with lots of cherries
and a man would show up in a black velvet pant suit
and a lot of hair
and shoes.  SHOES!

with eyeliner
and a lot of make up
and some tucked bits

I am inspired to go looking.
I google "green frog."
I google "gay bar"
I google "small southern Louisiana shrimping town where we lived
in the back room and I got picked on
because my mama
made some "choices" ......."

I get about five results.
Seriously.
Who gets five hits on google?

Who?
Oh, Ru Paul,
I adore you.  But.
You got some splainin' to do.