When Foucault Entered the Body

My friend Aaron said he’d like to give Sean Penn
a tongue bath, & I guess that’s clear enough, 

but I want more. I want to wear men’s shoes 
because they’re stylish, sturdy—& just because

I think Patricia Arquette’s beautiful 
doesn’t mean I want to be her. Just give me a wife

beater & an AK-47 & I’ll be Nic Cage
bustin up Con-Air, fuckin A. You can call me 

shallow, but in grad school the main theoryhead
called me late at night for advice about his boyfriend 

& that’s when Foucault entered the body—
give me a break with his “I’m not speaking” routine. 

Nobody wants to inhabit his/her own body
all the time—Take my friend Aaron, for example. 

When he’s irritated, he says, “panties, panties, panties” 
& that helps calm him down. & just because

my husband had to explain Popa Chubby, the Blues singer, 
to me—doesn’t mean I’m naïve—just on vacation.

Why stay in the body & miss the ricochet back in, 
the cool body return with its jolt of red sugar 

& don’t you just love the inside out of it? 
The veins & pink slippery animal openings of it? 

Panties, panties, panties.
When I dress in drag, honey, I’ll be in a pink-flower-

prom-gown with a motherfuckin tiara—
because a sharkskin suit would be too much

like home.

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Listen to a reading of the poem.