poem: "Waiting inside Mustang Ranch . . ."

Honoring Norman Mallory (Zlatko Waterman) RIP 3/26/13
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Zlatko Waterman
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Joined: August 19th, 2004, 8:30 am
Location: Los Angeles, CA USA

poem: "Waiting inside Mustang Ranch . . ."

Post by Zlatko Waterman » October 15th, 2005, 12:04 pm

(Performance notes: I taught at the University of Nevada, Reno in 1971 as a Ph.D. candidate and graduate student. Some old friends from California took me to Mustang Ranch-- see link below-- for my birthday-- my 26th, in the summer of 1971)


I gulp a whiskey
while the whores at Mustang Ranch
shake dice in a leather cup.

Out a prisoner-sized window
I watch a tiff in the parking lot–
she won’t forgive him; his chin is on his chest.
He’s either a customer or a husband,
hard to tell.

It isn’t pretty, no wedding
chapel with scrolled parchment

The moon chins
Pillow Mountain, desert wind slaps
my girl’s popsicle yellow
love closet. She’s ready:
magenta robe, rubber in hand.

Beyond the city limits a coyote
licks a pup in a sagebrush hole.
Her tongue is honey to him.



(link: adults only)


The "house rules" are particularly interesting . . .

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Joined: October 4th, 2005, 5:19 am
Location: Florida

Post by Dixie » October 15th, 2005, 12:59 pm

very interesting indeed


Post by hester_prynne » October 15th, 2005, 3:39 pm

"her tongue is honey to him"
Delightful finish here!
Love this poem 100 percent!

Zlatko, you make me wish I could write.

H 8)

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Joined: September 15th, 2005, 3:23 am


Post by creativesoul » October 16th, 2005, 2:40 am

i must say it is refreshing to find an honest man
yes yes
here in the whore house
well the lies are thick
but when you cannot even tell the truth with the curtains drawn
well then
it is just too dark
to shameful
perhaps the best thing about ever being a whore
is that you know when someone is lying
but you just watch
because it looks the same anywhere
love the coyote sagebrush thing
good stuff

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Joined: June 24th, 2005, 8:31 am
Location: Hampton Roads, Virginia

Post by joel » October 29th, 2005, 4:58 pm

I was a male stripper.
I went
for a rate of four cents
per pound
per hour.
No joke.

I had other stripper friends.
Little Eva and
the other I only knew
by her real name.
They were stronger women.
No joke.

My cousin stripped too.
Birds of a feather....
No stigma for me or my cousin;
we sold ourselves for art.
We kept our real names.

The stronger women worked
the sex trade--
not for outright sex, just for looks.
They got paid more than me.
Art made me the cheaper whore.

The stronger ones and I would laugh.
Naked for money
is naked for money.
We all got shortchanged and objectified--
why didn't I get the scarlet bonus?

If we were honest
you'd call me David
and I'd be more like Little Eva
because I was like Little Eva.
No joke.
"Every genuinely religious person is a heretic, and therefore a revolutionary" -- GBShaw

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Re: poem: "Waiting inside Mustang Ranch . . ."

Post by creativesoul » October 8th, 2014, 12:24 am

dance on my friend.... :idea:
reason is over rated, as is logic and common sense-i much prefer the passions of a crazy old woman, cats and dogs and jungle foliage- tropic rain-and a defined sense of who brings the stars up at night and the sun up in the morning---

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