xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxHer gown’s
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxa real sizzler

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxfloor length
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxBolshevik with
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxhigh-beaded collar

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxmy little Galanos
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxnesting doll
x
x
x
Nancy Reagan
before me
in the
avant red
I adore

and shy away
x
x
x
x
x
What’s a little haute couture to the woman who denies everything?
x
x
x
x
x
Trippy kitten telephone wires

lead me back to the bunker

choir, my secret rage
x
x
x
From here,

I remind Nancy, on hold,

that allegiance comes with a price
x
x
x
Signed with a nice love always

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx“I voted”
x
x
x
(I can no longer give blood.)
x
x
x
xxxxxxxxxRight up into the future,

xxxxxxxxxwhat Nancy wears influences everything
x
x
x
x
x
Even me her groping styles determine all for instance

which window I open on which side of the house
x
x
x
x
x
xxxxxxxxxWhat is a simple choice

xxxxxxxxxfor her — a
xxxxxxxxxperky ribbon

xxxxxxxxxon a casual pullover

xxxxxxxxxworn in a waltz across the White House sod —
x
x
x

a yawn toward the
helicopter, her strident pilot,
uncertain hand to shade his eyes

x
x
Contingencies like these dictate my week’s reading
x
x
x
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx(Soul on Ice, Lolita,
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxa dash of Dickinson)
x
x
x
x
Another sequence of events demands I take up tennis,
possibly build a barn
x
x
x

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxInside the barn, I discover

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxreading tea

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxverbena sacrifice

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxMars in retrograde

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxshadow spells

Before long, I learn to call her on capture

conjuring long spirits
as if aircraft travel

gallant, as if
x
x
x
Through Nancy, I begin to see behind the image.*
x
x
x
*Not paranoia but the comfort of another dimension growing out behind this one
starts to soothe pains, suggest lovers to me. So elemental, our one and only catalyst is allure.
x
x
x
x
x
x
x
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxEventually my trusty old post becomes a shadow of what it once was:

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxDear North Americans,

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxI collect Nancy Reagans. Will accept doubles.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxPayment in advance.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxSeeking red ladies, vacation maidens,
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxstationary Nancys. Those who read written upon.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxReluctantly
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxwill consider
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxdamaged Nancys,

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxthose involved
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxin her
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxrather hasty
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxdeparture,
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxin May of ’87,
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxto yellow.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxThose aren’t her, aren’t really Nancys.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxThe wind is our streets, a romance behind us.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxLove, Satan (just kidding) Satan
x
x
x
In 1991 AIDS takes on the color of Nancy’s party: a right republican red. At a certain point,
everywhere you looked for AIDS you’d find Nancy Reagan, in any one of her elegant gowns.
x
x
x
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxIn this one, she reclines
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxon a plush red couch
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxa drowned mannequin
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxwashed to shore

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxShe’s prostrate
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxin pointy shoes,
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxbloodshot costume
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxblazing
x
x
x
And folded craft-wise
one over the other over the other

xxxxxxxher stilted pose,

xxxxxxxher sudden emotionless face,

xxxxxxxher maddening inability to lounge
x
x
x
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxAt the center of her coil
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxthat murderous pillow
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxlies

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxembroidered
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxlike a gravestone: R period R period
x
x
x
The live self blinking behind the one represented,

the self that knows its others,

the Nancys.
x
x
x
And the questions

brimming

inside my mouth

emerge,

xxxxxxxxxxxxone

xxxxxxxxxxxxand then
xxxxxxxxxxxxtwo
x
x
x
slimey
bubbles
flubbing
up against
the next hopeless era
x
x
x
xxxxxxxxxxxxWhat self is safe?

xxxxxxxxxxxxWhat self wants to be safe?

xxxxxI’m no Prince Charles,
xxxxxbut I swear
xxxxxI once
xxxxxoverheard
xxxxxRonnie request
xxxxxof Nancy’s blank
xxxxxconfusion

Won’t you, Mommy,
my little devil,
slip into something
a little more…

red?