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Second Routine for Other Performer in Screwback Diamante Earrings

By Khaled Hakim.

Do these poems as [/Sister Ray/Audry Hepburn/Jessica Rabbit’s drug addeled bastard Other]

reproduce argrument with audiens – [Ive got a Little psykodrama Nell voise] of [/& anomie armpit] –

whether to find it express it assert it lose it –

[- whare self assersion shades off to free enterprize. Where th need to be privite become the demand to privatize].

Find out if these poems reproduse a subject/armpit.

This first one was so [mysogeynus/sensitive/good/] it [bombd/retreeted] when I [performed/stole/ate] it.

Its [ /?/fictive ] fraktured [mawdlin myzoginy/identitei] – calendar joke poems all the audienc cd take.

– [Say somthing interesting here] –

This is a pm about the [ /second law of hysteria/] – at the [don’t remember/Solihull Yung Conservetivs].

– [Say somthink – ] roomful of swillers come to see the band.

[Describ/ – her/it/ army surplus support hose/ cum up the /musceles shoveling coal].

I ask the organizer /if he’s/[expurgate]

/i’m /[you are/ ? /] demure in black straights & this white muslin blouse buttoning up the side with gold patterning

Ye know I took my stile from [Louise Brooks/Lenny Bruce/], after I stoppd been a [/ ?/jock/] & realized I had a wonderful Lolita harecut/faschist drill jacket/. & like theres this talk Mikel Palmer [I /think/] stole. Like he/I was saying

[steel this bit/say you/] intrested in [I mean steal it all/you saw] all these [/accresions/] decorater crabs are gluwing bits of shells & rocks on ye & a Coke bottle top – to goo & chop off bits of yrself. Like the relicks of the Saynts [thez women/you/?] becume.

I think it went down well.

& anyway – [Youve gorra do it like -] this ambiguus [bouncer/nursing in an old peples home/]. & tryin [/ ? /everyones] dumb dignity.

Like standing there saying [/Pretend/Im]

I cant stand [not] to [ ? ], to [/?], Michelle. Ever since the [acsident/conferense/ ?] you’ve [changed/stayed the same Other/]

Im sorry Frank. But it wasn’t [me?/ broke your floppy/etc, /Frank] – & Im [/Frank]

Coz it says here, somewere in the pm, [insult audienc/]

[/other aggressif or defensif or assumd disgize].

But [/no no/]. I don even remember – [this/I/it]

Anyway this is a voyce poem abowt the [professiunal transarency act/] sumwon els.

[ Leve something in Oxfam box].


– [do a commercial pm for the gay audiense].

[Describe – ] Ye know the law of entropy – theres only a finit number of orgazums, like a vending machine, & once you get yr last chockie bar – That’s it.

Anyway – I [he/gave] him/me/ my best [ /jumper].

So this is a [ ?/ ] about my [/yr] faverite [imago?/] deodorant of underlying truth – people looking out of windows putting the world onto/ Facebook. Pms of inevitabele disallusion…

That’s not fair…I need [you/it] Michele [/Paul/Baby].

Paul! [Paul –/] wait. Let me explain…But Paul[/…]

You prey on my innosence – & you luure me back to my place. & now you want [/toast/me/] to

Go home – yr mother dresses you funny.

[/Goddam. /Did you say it was true. /Fuck.]

[Thank you.]

O Im going thru a spirituel crisis. [This is another pm/] Its compulsery.

No really – youve gorra do this –

[/argeument/the isolated feeling].

Imagin a poem about this [/loveless/beutifull/hominid/] scizophrenick. Cauwt in the [nest/nets/nits] of [ /her/?] –

So yre playing this [underage/truck driver/mooch/] she saw herself. & Im [tortured/mentally handicappt/] by her death/nits.

[Coz I fancied her dead]. & like bereft in an absurd world – muttering yr bucketful of facticity/chapbooks.

[identify with existensial perfum advert].

[Expurgate/] O gimme a break willya. [/ – write a poem].

Why are you [doing/ ,] Amy – [You have/ ] let go Amy.

I cant stand [here/not/to/] you, to [ ? ] you, [ / /] you. Its killing [insert/ me]. Ever since the acsident yove changd Paul /Amy [other/].

Im sorry [Amy] Amy, I don’t now how I can [can’t/]. I cant just walk back into yr [mom’s pub/ arms/garige] like it was befor – .

Im trying, Paul, God nows Im trying, but its [ ], & I [don’t/cant/do/] how much monkeyspunk/linger in/. Im still a [/skizophrenik], & I need you Paul…

I don’t need a [ ?/Paul/wife] – I need a [Amy frend/bottle opener/]. Amy, […?/pwwwah/ haa!] – Karen! My [date rape voyeur!/my cleaner]…

This is a poem abot [my/your/ ] when I [/you] was dead [/undedd/half ded living with/ ?/]. Coz – I cdnt [get out/ help/simplify].

I [/you] got/get [bored/extremly pleszd/oral thrush] when shed [delete/rewrite/].

But then, I told Miles about playing theze senarios in my head rite, & the other day I was tellin this imaginary girl where to fucking gerroff if I ever saw her – & it was his fucking girlfrend. Ive never even met her.

Is that tenable/justice.

So this is a poem about [delete/ ]. Coz forget the tricks & prosodie just say/reify it.

[Structur into /not /saying/] – all these relicks of saiyntliness. Coz why shd

[insert yorr holiday story/ ].

Im sorry Paul – I dont no how to explain. You have to be /a/ patient.

Im trying Karen – God [/Amy] knows Im trying. But I don’t know how much [pussy cum/2 plus 2/]. Im still [a cripple/mannekin/somone else]. & Ive had to take a /prolapse/creme. Oh yeah, Im sorry about the acsident – but I cant apologize for [cultural theory/something else/prosthetick twat/].

No, you cant apostosize. You cant think [ ] except [yr/her] own [insert Irigary spout/]

Whats that supposed to mean. [Karen/Paul/Tank Girl/] – you know I need you.

You dont need a wife – you [need a/parsleystuffer/publisher/].

I don’t need a mother – I need an Alsation.

So this is a poem abot not/being [/dead/cawht] with [hypno-pompick /? think of somthing].

[Start winding up/center in awthentic/]

Do poems reveal anything intresting how/ [subjects/ /ectoplazm] is produced in social securiti quews [/on holiday]. Or doez it always stand utside of things in some kind of ontalogical bus shelter.

The problem w/ [riting/ /crossdressing] on/from [/ ? /reproduce feminine delerium/]. Yre [voting/] this valedictory armpit wch is the [/Nothing./Ye/don’t /].

[Go all Michel Jackson in Gethsemene] –

You & I are semi stable patterns of riting, maintaining in the very teeth of entropy a caracteristick shap, I am a flame thru wch shall pass 37 tons of verbiaj.

Thankyu & goodnite.

Birmingham/London 1989/1999/2016

Khaled Hakim was writing and performing ‘occasional’ poetry in the late 80s and 90s – as epistles and semi-improvisatory routines. He stopped publishing after appearing in the anthology Foil: Defining Poetry 1985-2000. He has reemerged very recently to poetry, having completed a ‘degraded epic’ called ‘The Book of Naseeb’ written in a mixture of street argot, Middle English, and Quranic language.

First published in 3:AM Magazine: Tuesday, February 20th, 2018.