One Night With You, Dear Elvis, In Your Palatial Tomb by Misti Rainwater-Lites

I know you refuse to eat pussy and you're too close to my kin
to get me wet so sex is not what I am here for.
I like the lighting in this place.
I'm liking the gaudy pink and red chandeliers, the glowing
Christmas angel eyes, the serpents hissing neon fountains
filled with sultry mermaids and Vegas sharks.
You guessed it, guy, I'm here for the ambiance.
There's enough room up in this bitch for all kinds of shenanigans!
Let's play chicken with golf carts and ride the ferris wheel naked!
I love to feel the late night Memphis breeze in between my legs.
Don't I kind of remind you of the Mighty Miss A Sip?
Pass those glass bottle Dr. Peppers and bacon banana
peanut butter sandwiches, baby! Let's be goofy for a while.
I know you can break my heart with "How Great Thou Art"
and "Dixie" but I'm in no mood for deep waters tonight.
I'm waterlogged, if you must know. I'm craving mucho
ebullience, Southern eccentric millionaire style.
Where are the monkeys that run around taking off
showgirls' thongs? Where are the jam sessions with
the Mafia? Where are the diamonds and Cadillacs
and blazing marquees? I didn't drop by for silence
heavier than Gilbert Grape's mama. This chill
is too Arctic for Tennessee. It's okay, I've got a
bit of the Phoenix in my tree, too…I understand
these things, oh King. I kiss with ashes on my tongue.
I'll fly away now still singing your songs. Snobs say
I should be ashamed of such devotion. I stick out
my tongue and they shrink, terrified of the black
velvet too precious to be tagged.

Three by Misti Rainwater-Lites

See That Island

see that island hazy on the horizon
it belongs
to her
she marks her territory
with gushes of menstrual blood
much too terrible to mention
a garden of fetus flowers
keeps the drunk sailors away
rainbow awnings yawn
at the colorless sun
so brutally smug

she’s monster woman
she’s cuntasaurus rex
roaring running ravaging
with talons
that do
not retract
not many believe
her mythology
how she gnaws sharks to death
for breakfast
and yet by the light
of the wan milky moon
she is but
a whisper of a mermaid
beached, broken
one long tail
slapping all forlorn
at the wet mushy sand

#

Squawking in Circles

In the latest peppermint dream she tried to convince-
she pulled all kinds of rabid bunnies out of her ass-
to convince the populace but especially her dear
martyr mama that she was terribly sick in spirit.
She drove to the store without any money but
it was a dream so she was allowed unlimited
access. With unlimited peppermint dream access
she was so sick in spirit she went to a dirty
poorly stocked grotesquely lit grocery store
and stared bleary eyed at bibs and chintzy toys
hanging from blue infant boy plastic hangers.
She could not decide which luxury to purchase.
99 cents didn’t go nearly as far as it did back
in the days of Bee Gees on the AM radio
and Elvis in Vegas. A sloppy guy on drugs
and his obnoxious girlfriend were loud
and defiant and in her way. She wanted
candy. She wanted apples. She wanted
greeting cards that featured witty penises
and desolate giraffes. She wanted a gun
so she could shoot sloppy guy on drugs
and obnoxious girlfriend out of her weary way.
The cart cluttered an awkward dance of stuck
stuck stuck and shit outta luck. She tried calling
her mother on a cell phone in the dark parking lot
then remembered she could be killed for that.
She wanted to die but she wanted to be
the killer. She poured gasoline into the backseat.
She was so tired she could sleep in a coffin
with no air conditioning or television
for a million worm crawling years.
She drove but couples happy on ridiculous
dates were thick in the streets.
She could not get through the gleeful thick
to Mama or God or Richard Simmons.
David Koresh mocked her in an afterschool
special hologram. She woke up sticky
and sorry with a mouth stuffed with cotton
candy, the fat free kind.

#

Love is Hurting My Head

I’ve got cancer of the scalp.
My manic nails claw their way
to the toy shop.
The talking ducks are loose.
I can’t hula hoop
my way out of this one, Henry.
I would sell my monkey
for a spot of tea, a bottle of
night night pills and some
olive conditioner.
Nobody these days it seems
is in the market
for an insomniac monkey
caged
too
long
in
the
idiot
sun.

Two by Misti Rainwater-Lites

You Are Disgusting Me

with your These Are Not The Tots
I Ordered So I Shall Proceed To
Desecrate Them With Chocolate Syrup
And Worcestershire Sauce And Feed
Them To My Friend Bobby's Idiot
Slobbering Stinky Butt Poodle
And Educate The Stupid Bitch Waitress
On The Fundamentals Of Fried Food
And Demand She Bring Me A Free
Platter of Onion Rings Extra Crispy
Or Risk My Damning Her To
Unemployment Hell With My
Angry Comment Card Scribble

I mean really dude
…really…
if you were standing in front of me
right now I do believe I would spit
in your fat smug hypocrisy smeared face
and tell you to stop wishing on the blue
melancholy moon and grab a fucking
life.
I would tell you the French fries at McDonald's
aren't as good as they were in 1985
but that doesn't stop me from scarfing them down
every chance I get.
I eat them without ketchup.
For me, the salt is sufficient.
I crave salt worse than any deer you ever saw.
I don't blame anybody but myself for the heartburn.
Baby, I'm a big girl now.
You won't find me crying into my Coca-Cola.

My tombstone is a comment card I carry around
like a passport since I have this wry death wish joke
and cannot afford to leave the merry hell that is
2008 America. To writ:
I don't speak that thumb suck pity potty language
but you can still knock three times on my tree house
anytime, Big Boy. There is no secret handshake.
There is a banana milkshake on your head if you
don't take your hat off when talking to me. My monkey
sees all so don't try no tricks!

#

Finally Found a Friend in This Fucking Town

i came into her warmth
from cold rain which
streaked my foundation
and blackest mascara
i expected the worst
i hoped for the best
she gave me a towel
she talked to me like
i was a spirit, shining
not a paper doll, crumpling
i loved her accent
i loved her conversation
i loved that she didn't ask
the usual questions
i loved that she could translate
my fluster
and she thought i was italian
and she thought i was beautiful
and she told me when i return
she will make me even
more beautiful
with a few strands of violet
to frame my exquisite countenance

You Drive by Misti Rainwater-Lites

you drive away from Albuquerque
on your new husband's fortieth birthday
you are sobbing
telling yourself
It's Okay
No, Really- It's Okay
it doesn't matter
that you hate
his grandmother
and she hates you
right back
so he yelled at you
so he called you a Fucking Bitch
he was sorry
to see you go
he really was
he stood on his crutches
in the driveway
waving bye
the tears streaming down

you drive away from
your husband
and the mountains
and the mesas
you see the hotel
where you spent your wedding night
four months ago
you remember everything
and all
at once
it's all
too much
but It's Okay
you say to yourself
over & over
you drive through Las Cruces
the cows look so sad
the cows are so stuck
like so many people
you know & love

you see a mountain in El Paso
that seems to be covered
with huge white words
but cars are whizzing by
and the sun is setting
you will never know
what the words say

you put gas in the car
buy a bag of Flaming Hot Cheetos
a bottle of Aquafina water
and a laminated Texas map
you do not know
where you're going
but you're going away
from the pain
away from the nervous breakdowns
away from the man
who keeps breaking
your heart

you stop for Border Patrol
a pretty no-nonsense
Latina lady shines
her flashlight into the backseat
of your car
which is loaded with
clothes & books
she asks where you're going
she asks if you're a U.S. citizen
you answer her questions
politely with no condescension

you drive on through a fog
whenever you drive through fog
you imagine you are driving through
ghosts because there are more ghosts
than people in your life

your hands grip the steering wheel
you are terrified
of the concrete
as well as the abstract
what the fuck is eternity
and why does it loom
what the fuck is love
and why won't it leave
your poor tired white ass alone
why are these trucks
zooming around you
will you die tonight
just how bloody & painful
will your death be

you drive through West Texas
past Monahans
where the girls ganged up
on you on the playground
in sixth grade
even pre-menstruation
you brought out the worst
in people

you drive through Midland
for an hour or more
past the hospital
where you gave birth
to a girl
and gave her away
past the church
where you sat in a pew
sending hundreds of psychic
I Love You's to your Leo crush
past the mall
where you blew many allowances
on cheap clothes and candy

you cannot find a cheap motel
you waste sixty bucks
on a Days Inn suite
you pull the tacky bedspread
and dark yellow blanket
off the bed
you are terrified of scorpions
you glance at the ugly fridge
and stove
bitterly upset
you take a bath
you get in bed
look at your naked body
in the mirrored closet door
no wonder he loves your breasts
they're small but pretty
with perfect nipples

you sleep for a few hours
he doesn't call
you leave two cold messages
on his voice mail

you shower and dress
and leave the room
you drive to your mom's old best friend's house
Faith is one of the few
truly decent people
you know
when you were in the hospital
at fifteen
she brought you the first "Dirty Dancing"
soundtrack cassette
she visited you in the same hospital
again when you were 23
and saying good-bye to your newborn daughter
she gives you a hundred dollars
and a hug
tells you she will pray for you
all you can do
is thank her
and walk away crying

you drive all the way
to Bridgeport, Texas
your birthplace
your only real nest
your Meme & Pop's house
on what was once called Cuba Road
your grandmother loves you
but she can't relate to you
you write & lose jobs & men
you ooze the worst kind of luck
or maybe it's bad karma
and you deserve it
your grandmother is heavy
with a life lived sensiblyand politely
married to the same man
since she was seventeen
mother to three children
one child buried
your grandmother is a hurricane
you are a breeze

your grandfather is congenial
and clueless as always
he takes you out to eat dinner
at a Fifties theme cafe
you order a Cherry Coke
the waitress asks if you want
a Roy Rogers
tells you a Roy Rogers has
two cherries instead of one
you laugh
you go for it
you have earned
an extra cherry

Three by Misti Rainwater-Lites

Loaded For Bear

today's epiphany brought to me
by the letter "B"
capital, yes, more aesthetically pleasing
& much more accurate
I am a Big Bitch
I am thinking of drinking Beer
until my Brain Bursts into a Billion Bits of Brilliant Blah
Because I Berated my Best friend
over Banalities
and Bruised his Benevolence
and Bled my heart into Anemia
and remembered my Bulimic roommatef
rom the summer of 1990
Big tits and a Better feminine mystique
than mine
when I was eleven and Bony I rode my Bike
to the library and checked out Books
on the Bermuda Triangle and Big Foot
I Believed in Jesus
he was my Boyfriend
I played with Barbie dolls
and imagined myself flawless
and Bubbly
instead of Buck toothed
and Bashful
don't Bother me with your Bullshit...Doo Doo Head
I cannot think of an appropriate insult
that begins withthe letter B
Bees are Buzzing like they do
all up in my Bonnet
the Blame does not
Belong to
me

the Blond cashier treated me like trash
she did not throw me away
I am heavy
I am muchness
I am one of those Bloated with Baggage Broads
my eyes are Blue
and the most Beautiful things about me
but she was hoping I would Blow away
from her register
I Brought trouble to her shift
"goddamn..."
(scratch that...she was a Blatant Bible thumper)
"gosh darn it...this Bitch is Bringing a Lone Star card AND WIC vouchers into my line?!!! Bush is so right about these...these...grubby handed welfare recipients! she needs to get a job like me. if I can stand on my feet for eight hours for seven Bucks an hour and Benefits so can she!"
I pushed that Button
"NO"
(cashier was not friendly to me today)

Lone Star cards and WIC vouchers do not put
Beer and Birth control pills
in the Basket
nor do they provide my Bravado
with the greatest hits of Blondie
Blondie was such a Bad ass
Back in the day
I Bet she never gave Blow jobs
for tacos
Debbie Harry gots that lucky white chick glow

I gots mosquito Bites
and sweat Blurred
dreams
those Bic lighters held up in worship
of my whiskey vocals and ripped fishnets
all the Boys
linin' up
for a whiff
of my Texas Back roads
Blues

#

How Many Cliches Does it Take To Make You Want To Die?

or: I Spent My Summer Vacation Trying To Decide
How To Kill Myself
because: Smile! God Loves You!
Friends Are Forever!
The Road is Often Uphill But Walk it, Anyway!
Cats Are People, Too!
Into Every Garden A Little Rain Must Fall!
We All Make Mistakes! That's Why Pencils Have Erasers!
There's A Hamburger Up Ahead With Your Name Smeared All Over it!
I'm sick of this Oh We're All So Jolly Up At The North Pole
Making Our Toys Playing Our Reindeer Games Farting Marshmallows And Pissing Hot Cocoa
BULLSHIT!!!
Kurt Cobain sang about denial until his throat
was raw
and now he's dead
like hamburger meat
and the Courtney Love cockroaches
of the world
continue to shit and breed
all smiley face Vicodin zombie like.
This makes me want to kill
just thinking about it.
I want to kill a bunch of mosquitoes.
I want to rip out robot wires
and eat some fish
and choke
on the bones.
I want to wake up in mermaid heaven.
I want to splash around in the My Shit Don't Stink lagoon.
I want to be swallowed by God the happy blue whale.
I want to treat myself to a bonfire.
I'm worth $1.69 in today's market.
I might as well roast some puffy marshmallows
and suck the sticky
from my fingers.

#

My Insanity

seems larger than yours because it is so...out there. Like the big butts that some men love. Your anaconda is cleverly hidden and waiting to swallow Owen Wilson or any other hapless unwitting prey. Jennifer Lopez could never kill your monster. I like how you try so fucking hard to convince people that you are right and always. That shows a remarkable lack of class
and style. I basically slam my plate of overcooked eggs and raw bacon down on the chipped formica and say,"You want beer with that? Eat this in remembrance of my take me as I am bravery. Or don't. There's a cleaner diner down the street a ways. Plays the greatest hits of Michael Bolton 24/7."
See, all of us with too few exceptions to even mention them are roiling with toxicity and constipated with confusion. Some people will love your ass regardless and they are to be treasured. There are a few monsters among us
but most of us are just survivors trying to console ourselves
with smiley face pancakes
and mediocre coffee.