after Douglas Sirk
Take me to the country club in my red dress.
Make me locally infamous.
Fix me a Martini—Dry—
I am getting weepy. I almost want to die.
O take me, please, to the clinic in Zurich.
I’m not being ironic—
I cannot see to see!
You—you have blinded me!
Be my gardener,
and I can make the moves like Lana Turner:
look what my eyeballs are doing now!
This is all that heaven allows,
and then some (uh, OK, that’s Jane Wyman).
Don’t say I am, I am a poor imitation—
O, you. Magnificent. Obsession.