Show Bloat....



I remember

the green rooms
and the cheap booze
and the fast foods,
and the smell of the

noxema cold cream
and various other

makeup removers
spread around beneath

the blazing bare bulbs,
and that sweat that crept
under the collar of your shirt
one minute before curtain,
and the rush that

melted it into passion
as you stepped out

and sang that first note,
that first chord reverberating

 across screaming heads,
and mass adoration for whatever

it was you were currently selling,
and the bass that used to vibrate

from the monitors and huge speakers
it once dissolved and pulvarized a

jawbreaker into powder
in a second or two in my mouth,
and the list that you

check marked mentally
as you sang your way through it

and into the hearts
of those who loved you,

at least in that temporary moment
till a new gig,

a new gimmick came along......
the harsh weariness afterward,

when all the art was drained
from your bones, and muscles

were jello revived only by
a stiff shot of alcohol

or a drug of choice....
or some deep thrusts of macho approval

into the newest squeeze
and then sleep,

curtains for another day....

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