Lady Gaga fan art by http://ellenviolet.deviantart.com/
EMILY O'NEILL
Double Talk
Richard is drunk somewhere else now
but when I was 17 he’d call me
sometimes to broadcast
that he could barely stand
his skin or remaining
upright & I didn't always answer
but I always called back
& sometimes his mailbox
picked up when he was busy
swaying like cigarette smoke,
the message a whispered young hearts
be free tonight, Rod Stewart,
& also a line from a hardcore song
a boy I teased in college tattooed
on his forearm in Arial Black, just
below his elbow's ditch
& I couldn't help but think
of Richard then: kick flip, tank top,
mean as a red cape taunting horns, drunk
& on the phone again, drunk & sprawled
on the living room carpet at my gram’s house,
where we watched 11 o’clock
news turn late night laugh track, then
canned guffaw slipped into Ronco
Rotisserie & the laughs bled grease
& crisped under the skin until
they were cynical as the both of us:
not quite friends, not quite touching.
Double Talk
Richard is drunk somewhere else now
but when I was 17 he’d call me
sometimes to broadcast
that he could barely stand
his skin or remaining
upright & I didn't always answer
but I always called back
& sometimes his mailbox
picked up when he was busy
swaying like cigarette smoke,
the message a whispered young hearts
be free tonight, Rod Stewart,
& also a line from a hardcore song
a boy I teased in college tattooed
on his forearm in Arial Black, just
below his elbow's ditch
& I couldn't help but think
of Richard then: kick flip, tank top,
mean as a red cape taunting horns, drunk
& on the phone again, drunk & sprawled
on the living room carpet at my gram’s house,
where we watched 11 o’clock
news turn late night laugh track, then
canned guffaw slipped into Ronco
Rotisserie & the laughs bled grease
& crisped under the skin until
they were cynical as the both of us:
not quite friends, not quite touching.
It Isn’t Hell If Everybody Knows My Name
after Lady Gaga
Nothing wrong with sin or mistakes. When flame comes I’ll dance
on the edge of virtue, wear a crown of lies / dance with tied hands & marry
Judas in Gethsamane with a bag of silver saying king me
king me I can’t love a prophet like a house, will die tonight
on the edge of virtue, wear a crown of lies / dance with tied hands & marry
a legion of soldiers. Bless them with my empty. Call me Bloody Mary
king me I can’t love a prophet like a house, will die tonight
as I cut my hair. Put your hands on me / smell of gunsmoke, madness,
a legion of soldiers. Bless them with my empty. Call me Blood Mary,
just a holy fool in leather. A cracked flag of skin. A smacked selfish mouth
as I cut my hair. Put your hands on me / smell of gunsmoke, madness,
the syrup of skin going liquid. Let me pray with watered wine,
just a holy fool in leather. A cracked flag of skin. A smacked selfish mouth.
Nothing wrong with sin or mistakes. When flame comes I’ll dance
as I cut my hair. Put your hands on me / smell of gunsmoke, madness,
Judas in Gethsamane with a bag of silver saying king me
after Lady Gaga
Nothing wrong with sin or mistakes. When flame comes I’ll dance
on the edge of virtue, wear a crown of lies / dance with tied hands & marry
Judas in Gethsamane with a bag of silver saying king me
king me I can’t love a prophet like a house, will die tonight
on the edge of virtue, wear a crown of lies / dance with tied hands & marry
a legion of soldiers. Bless them with my empty. Call me Bloody Mary
king me I can’t love a prophet like a house, will die tonight
as I cut my hair. Put your hands on me / smell of gunsmoke, madness,
a legion of soldiers. Bless them with my empty. Call me Blood Mary,
just a holy fool in leather. A cracked flag of skin. A smacked selfish mouth
as I cut my hair. Put your hands on me / smell of gunsmoke, madness,
the syrup of skin going liquid. Let me pray with watered wine,
just a holy fool in leather. A cracked flag of skin. A smacked selfish mouth.
Nothing wrong with sin or mistakes. When flame comes I’ll dance
as I cut my hair. Put your hands on me / smell of gunsmoke, madness,
Judas in Gethsamane with a bag of silver saying king me
Emily O'Neill is a writer, artist, and proud Jersey girl. Her recent poems and stories can be found in Banango Street, Electric Cereal, and Vector, among others. Her debut collection, Pelican, is the inaugural winner of Yes Yes Books' Pamet River Prize and forthcoming in 2014. You can pick her brain at http://emily-oneill.com.
Read Emily's "Teenage Dream Redux" and "Rated R Redux" from Issue #2 right here.