Sara Jane Stoner - The Eunuch’s Haute Psychotics

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The Eunuch’s Haute Psychotics

Like Liberace, I was born
a gay man prone to overdressing,
though I, certainly, was bred
for something meaner than entertainment.
My fate: to take down any shade of elephant
be it pinky or grand proboscis.

Fancy their supposing I lack a gun
with ruby bullets such as these
tracing the tips of my spur blades,
sapphire barrel beads side-lighting
my thighs like Vegas signage,
a ballroom’s worth of fine Austrian crystals

tricking my white leather into out-flashing
an army of Liberaces. Their smiles hidden
for the false jewels wedged between their teeth.
(And you know what they say about Liberace’s nose.)
They tell me, I do admire your chaps, sir.
Where did you find those chaps, sir?

A gift, I say, from my brothers and sisters,
pianists and eunuchs all, who knew
the fingerings to Fighterland,
or was it that they showed me
how to fight my way to Fingerland?

Fancy even seeking
the golden gun
with all these semi-
precious
triggers.