Steven Fales

Steven Fales
Steven Fales -- Actor/Writer/Producer

Wednesday, May 15, 2013

The Prophecy

by Steven Fales

New York is my mistress I surely shall want
She maketh me to lie down in dark pastures
She leadeth me beside the crystal meth waters
She cheateth my soul
In the valley of the shadow of the urban jungle
I can never find the right place to pee
So once again I am wet with shame
She has too many tempting alleyways
I cannot decide how far down to go
Or which subway will take me all the way
One is too many and a thousand never enough
Unless this time she will kindly not hold the door
Death, thy name is More!
Bigger, bigger, pull the trigger . . .

How can I tame you, lover?
I sketch and shuffle across bridge and tunnel
With my tweak and my stink
In my autumn hoodie I scare and
Scatter elders, tweens and twinks
As you speed me to squalor
From Chelsea dungeons to Brighton Beach dawn
I clench my teeth too tired to yawn
So cold you can smell that the falling rain
Will soon turn to snow to salt my brain
And in my flip-flops I straddle and trudge
As you strut on by and I cop my grudge
You cost all I have and barely give back
Your displeasured countenance
And hostile indifference terrify me
I feel alone as you swallow me whole
Too good to call whore at your prostitute’s craft
In your sexy black dress
So bad you can’t even wear red
Trade your heels in for boots with that killer skill
I harness my gods to thy ravenous will
What else is in that duffle?
Trouble, trouble, quite a double
Thy rod and thy staff they escort me
Thou preparest a table before me
In the presence of Hell’s dark Kitchen
My Canal Street Rolex has stopped
My lighter, too, you want it?
I’m sorry, but this time
I just can’t seem to
Give it up or
Get it up or
Look me in the eye through your
Glory holes and buddy booths
You don't see me from behind
As I assume the position
You're the dawg tag choker
I’m milked bone dry
And that strap on you’re wearing
Could use some more lube
The least you could do
After all we’ve meant to each other is spit
Is that you or me on the faceless, plasma screen
I don’t ever want to know who’s riding whom
It’s all uploaded and downloaded and over with now
Your virus is high and my t-cells are low
I’ve tasted my blood and know that it’s so
Damn, you for burning my thigh with your pipe
And me for ever letting myself smell this ripe . . . 

You taketh my youth, beauty, talent, funds--
I have only dreams to give
And dreams won’t pay for the view
Not in the swanky penthouses wherein you reign
I can’t even furnish the foyer
The change bowl is filthy copper now
Or is it zinc and soot?
Zounds! The spending loot’s long gone
With only receipts to remind me
That now I am hopelessly drifting in debt
Compounded interest cuffing my heart
Waterboarding what once was hope and art
You are a frenzied banquet on which others feed
Napkin? Crab cake? Tartare? Bizarre!
Your tall flute runneth o’er as I lick the flowing lucre
And hunger and thirst in your miserable, gluttonous presence
Bubble, bubble, have a double
Straddle, straddle, wield your paddle
Weak and undone even Broadway’s no fun
Each gay exhibit doth now prohibit
I can’t even score a free pass to Dendur
And I am not brave enough to go
Where mafia has fed my tribe before
Just ask your red-headed step sister, Vegas
Or my mama’s Mormon daddy
No longer a hooker myself (I know the drill)
Hustle, hustle, feel my muscle
Shazam! Bam! I will not slam!
Leave me! Go! Find another victim
If you can
If you dare
Choose your poison as you huff and puff
Passion passes me by like the parades you fake
And the faggots you smoke
All your manic whims and wishes are wasted on me
For johns will be johns--sores, warts and all
The transaction’s complete
In the wreckage of your presence
I defer to the future
Be careful what you wish for because . . .

I will return one stormy night
When I can foot your bill and
Pay your rent late fees and all
And extend your lease without rent control
Say good bye to your pad up on high
In your hipster tower that makes Trump men sigh
I will marry you at last
And bring you down
And slow you down
Surprise! Astonish! Astound!
No limo for you but a taxi for two
I will be the pimp you truly needed
But did not think was man enough
No longer a sugar daddy or trophy wife
We will partner, sweetheart, dear
You will dress in white and so will I
Equally bound with veil and tie
And you will have our sober child
Struck whole and complete the nor’easter past  
Blunting steeples and uprooting trees
Littering parks like a ce-me-ter-y
Hovel, hovel, no more shovel!
We will make love to vanilla flames
And lavender lotion shall soothe and calm
I’ll play pi-a-nah and you will sing
While daffodils dance to our plunk and ping
Together we’ll cook and read the Times
And nurse the child as St. John’s chimes
Give the nanny the day off—for life!
Let the Boston terriers back in
And take off the leather leash for good
No tag or muzzle for them, you or me
No more need for harm or even charm
We shall dwell in a sunny two-bedroom
Pre-war, fifth floor, modest decor
With coffee, mint and Kelly green
And butterfly kisses on places we keen
Geraniums bobbing in the window box
Running around in just summer socks
Iced tea and lemonade freshly made
Plenty of ice cream in the freezer to raid
On the Upper West Side
Between 72nd and 86th Street and Riverside and W.E.A.
Pushing a stroller we will be seen
Shopping Fairway forever
Amen and again, amen and amen . . . 

*Origninally titled "New York is My Mistress (Ode to Meth)". This was written in the depths of the Recession after a break up in New York (and a hefty binge) November 2009.

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