The Contortonist Twists the Bearded Lady’s Word & Things Get a Little Hairy Between Them

The Contortionist Twists the Bearded Lady’s Words & Things Get a Little Hairy Between Them

by Amorak Huey

Tequila-bleary on brownstone roof,
spitting watermelon seeds over edge,
young enough not to care what time it is –
if you can’t fall in lust here –

but let’s not pretend our past matters.
Today is unvacuumed living space,
litter boxes, blown light bulbs,
graffiti of an unconsidered life

& how long since you touched me
the way you used to? Agreeing
on who the assholes are
is what drew us together –

now we might be the assholes.
One of us, anyway. Shock value,
freak show, one low blow after another,
if you could stab yourself in the back

with your big toe, you’d never leave
the tent, either. We need to talk.
We need to sell tickets.
We need to smile for camera,

paint slow parade on glass ceiling,
invent ourselves from scratch
every evening, matinee, late show –
why it is easier to lie almost naked

in front of a hundred strangers
with all your knots & blemishes on display,
than to close your eyes in this black room
& tell the truth about love?


-refers from the word “assholes” in Martin Ott’s fiction piece The Interrogator’s Last Question