poems 2 rock your soul by Lady Gaga

meat suit, bubble suit, taffeta
felt suit, skin suit,
another costume change
it’s not nearly as fun,
all the gays screeching
“that’s so outrageous!”
backstage
now that
alexander mcqueen’s dead
i was sad for a week, and then
the one after that, too

but elton’s still alive and
i’m baby elton’s
godmother

yeah

tie a yellow ribbon around
my rise
from long island to
bernie taupin’s collaborator’s adopted son’s
meaningless title
hey, if elton kicks it
i’m not
changing any diapers
but I’ll wear a diaper suit
maybe to the emmy’s

life as performance art
music as commentary on
living a plastic life
plastic melody,
i
stole my mojo
from the plastic ono band
just don’t call me yoko,
call me ma’am
or call me a cab

channeling warhol is a tag line,
channeling watery Madonna

(and cindy sherman)
is more my speed
but madonna’s been irrelevant
since shining star
kabbalah queen
what do those numbers even mean?
not units moved, i’ll to you
adopting nine african kids,
is ciccone schtick
but i’d wear an african kid suit as
commentary on
how hard it is to shock,
now that papa don’t preach is
a jingle for applebees

without a wig, at a party
would you even notice me?
big nose, i got
no tits
at all
i got
no
second act
banality as meta joke
is a
closed system,
is an
airless
hole