Wayne Koestenbaum

Four Poems

The Ass Festival

Pink cum dribbles out my anus.
Nietzsche calls it “The Ass Festival.”
The lion roars.

Scientists agree.
I switch to Sanskrit.
Everything happens twice.

We stop being interested.
Like a knee.
I enjoy reading philosophy.

Without a penis.
I understand metaphysics.
Vietnam shapes it.

We live in a totalitarian society.
I’m noun-poor.
The more castrated, the more

optimistic:  ratio.
I cum five times in a row.
I ignore denominational details.

The Book of Scapegoats


Click the grief castanets.
Spin your heinie while clacking.

Win a fortune if you clink correctly.
Scald the universe with your castanets.


Grandmother pressed her groin
into my thigh.  I reciprocated.

She said homosexuality
was a no-no.  Otherwise tolerant

she amused herself with Aeschylus
near an orchard’s admonishment.


If only the pimple had a proper home!
It survives on handouts.

“This isn’t true,” thinks the pimple,
stepping out for delicatessen.

Will the pimple please explain
its scrunched gait, its grandiosity problem,

its lumière nature
amenable to remembering nickelodeons aglow?


At brunch her brass
or copper penis

pops out.
Can’t grab it.

Her penis appears
as addendum,

a groove
inside the diatribe.

Not hobbled, she divides
coffee cake into equal pieces.


The bully across the street
has a dead father

whose petrified hair allows
the trial door behind me to remain shut.

Estate Sale

On iGavel I bought
a blue glass medallion
once owned by Anna Moffo.

Blue glass medallion:
boys go mad.  I dreamt
of a student suddenly alive

again, available, acolyte
material, his name
difficult to spell, an “m”

where I didn’t expect it.
Words:  collapse, incompetent,
non-coping.  More

words:  stains, buttons,
objects, littleness, holes,
polyps, aftermaths.  All

are sticky.  I like this dais.
My desk drawer holds a cache
of father photos—sprocketed

edges.  He’s “famous”—
no wonder, like a V.P., I
wear white shirt, string tie.

Little Ode to Incorrigibility

Boy with snot running out his nose,
a disease, head down,
no one knows what to do with him,
he lives near paradise.


He steals my clown pants,
piecemeal, through hatchets and flattery.
I worship his requirements in a sex cave.
My mother’s toiletries stand sentinel.


Grab incorrigibility.
Electrocute or garotte it.
Incorrigibility originates dance?
Say something offensive involving rivers.

return to SHAMPOO 35