No morning walk, I went to the beauty parlor yesterday.
No muddling about; I want to be seen.
How would Leigh Bowery dress me?
Nip me at the thigh.
Cover one foot, one ear, four fingers.
Sculpt a barrel silhouette in dust-dyed taffeta,
Side hoops, under hoops, hoops over hoops over blisters.
A bird perched on pursed lips.
A dash of eye poison.
A shoulder vagina.
Prancing from the dressing room,
We crisscross nail prints at each mosquito bite.
The Legend of Leigh Bowery (2002)
I always think about your adoration of Leigh Bowery as an artist and your feeling about the film's privileging of getting dressed just to stay in!
ReplyDeleteI think about this in the context of the way you used to wear 70s granny skirts with white mens undershirts and sexy high boots.
Your outfits changed how I understood the world.
As has your careful decision with comma vs. semicolon here:
"No morning walk, I went to the beauty parlor yesterday.
No muddling about; I want to be seen."
Lists that erupt into new directionals.
I’m reminded of the movement of your fringe jacket, your burgundy hat for special occasions, the size of your purses, your perfect snap button shirts and my inability to find one that suited me. You’ve always been a wonderful dresser, and I covet your choices. Thanks for the punctuation nod; your thoughts on my writing (and style) are so meaningful to me.
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