Take a Bow, Gas Station Drag Queen
Portrait of Drag Queen with a Pig Nosebehind the gas station the queen begins facing away from the crowd. low cut back, floor length gown. pulses a knee to the music, arm on hip, believable human silhouette. i should know this song. the rest of the audience sings along, lit by a rented spot. bride to tires and oil. centuries pass as she turns slow as a planet with all us dying on it. the reveal, below the veil, her silicone snout, scarred and profound. hybrid thing. elegant-bidpedal-terrifying. think monster but make it fashion. think what monsters go into making fashion. we gasp at the temporary godhead standing before us, the promise of all our science inside one passable prosthetic. in a laboratory in california scientists inject human stem cells into a pig fetus & for four weeks it lives. miss vice, you are the perfected form of all our darkest literatures smiling. you are the language we’ve been looking for when we say we need a new language. darkness dragged, bathed in light. the song ends. she sniffs. collects her tips.
Quarantine a Deuxa new app tells us whether it’s safe to breathe i haven’t been outside in weeks afternoons, sunbathe on the living room floor beneath the barred windows it’s grown sepia out there a filter descended over the true face of the world the little man in my phone’s purple today—wears a gas mask recommends not riding a bicycle i wipe ashes from my packages my mail carrier says it’s the end of the fucking world if anyone, he should know: neither snow nor rain nor heat nor gloom of night almost two and half millennia ago we split brussels, broccoli, kale, collards, kohlrabi, all from the same wild cabbage such imaginations humans have it’s a miracle life existed here at all long as it has
Take a break from the news
We publish your favorite authors—even the ones you haven't read yet. Get new fiction, essays, and poetry delivered to your inbox.