This is an ekphrastic poem by Lonely Christopher responding to the film "Lonesome Cowboys" by Andy Warhol. This film is considered by many to be Warhol's last (the artist has a notoriously vast and enigmatic filmography). Notably, it is one of the few he shot outside of his factory, trading its aluminum-foil padded walls for the Arizona wilderness. It is a film at odds with itself—while retaining the improvisational queerness which defined Warhol's factory films and "nudies," it is undergirded by a heteronormative, satirical script written by the cantankerous Paul Morrisey. Despite the aggressive indifference the filmmakers (and many performers) seem to have towards sex, the film exudes hyper-masculine eros. All of this friction and confusion captured by Lonely Christopher in his poem below. Also, you can find a pretty decent bootleg of the film on YouTube, and there's a Velvet Underground song with a similar title
I.
Silence is one of the best audiences
so I’ll talk about the confusion of life.
Pistols bloom from the sprawling sand
airplanes taunting vistas, rip through
an Arizona stratosphere. Here comes
trouble: A wild pack of brothers
rides into town on
rented horseback
trembling fresh off
Superstition Mountain
grabby for flesh and haircuts
whistling up a precarious vamp
whip in the mud callous women
readied for the bubblegum acid catastrophe.
Sheriff can’t stand up to this
bought and paid for, anyway
incestuous tussling
underneath the trees of life
and up against the cactus
getting pricked here and there.
We take what we want
plucked like ostentatious fruit
from a bough of the
pornographic orchard.
Predation grows here
bullets mean nothing
upon my horse
there lays a rock.
We have a number of sinister artifacts
which trap intruding cowgirls;
that smile won’t keep
you above snakes for long.
The sun can’t protect them forever.
II.
Too stupid to rub two sticks together
for fire to cook beans over
naked men shiver in the cold
at the outskirts of civilization
meager warmth from their filthy stories
gleaned and jealous fits of desire.
Ain’t you supposed to be my brother?
Nude hairy shoulders
rubbing up against each other
under the one good blanket
the family shares.
Wild beasts moan in the distance
hunger’s palpable
camping in the dark.
The leader picks his rotten teeth
with the joker from a reft deck
of playing cards. Thinking of fashion
the way kids simmer in the light.
Prometheus comes in my eye.
Speaking of murder
tall order for the restless
beer for breakfast and wrestling
shirtless in the brush
wheat froth and camouflage
cocks wagging every which way
brains reeling as he serves us
skittered down the cliff
to the desolate valley below.
Point that thing elsewhere.
Vulture caws, pukes a diamond
waits in the tall bleached grass
for the gossip of stinky carrion.
Them boys might look
like they been kissing
but ma’am methinks
you’ve been reading
too much Freud.
III.
All’s we want’s the woman
denuded and reproached
taken in the worst way
rub dirt on her lily crotch
fellas like that were made for
harassing your pony
digging deep as a smutty knuckle
into screeching crevices.
They wish to be as delicate
dressed all in lace midst brassy dusk.
Her nurse protests the crazed hump
those ruthless brothers scoring the earth
with knives and bitten fingernails
playing assailant, dropping coins
smear the queer to high heaven
raw meat for the taking
it’s called the sufferance of humanity.
You boys have been today uncouth
we got all our shots when we came
into this territory, one more
impertinence out of you
and the fuck is off!
An ineffectual lawman won’t run
the scamps out of town, combs his wig
caking on mismatched foundation
squeezed in his mama’s old corset
dancing to beat the devil
on the saloon’s tin roof.
We’re not out to raise hell
we’re out to raise children
lead decent lives and settle down
in a town and build it into a city
and be ready for World War I.
We need authority and discipline
but our parents were slaughtered
by warriors on the plains.
IV.
Lost in a rickety fandango
ornamented by a spate of
cocaine, blood, and billiards
for the rest of your miserable life
shuck them, varmint
whilst marauders enjoy themselves
hunk bathed in the trough.
Watching this makes you a criminal;
I learned how to kiss
before I could tie my shoes
we all know what happens
to altar boys when they grow up.
Can’t remember the gnarly fable
something about warring clans
smoke and easy treachery
nobody really gets hurt
in the scrimmage.
Brother on brother action
what you were expecting
that you needed, but worse
if you take off your pants, I’ll sing it for you
worms do it
prospectors pine for it
tawdry teenagers titter about the day
a pensive stranger reached the depot
performing a miracle
before our starving eyes.
It don’t matter, dude
only a star-crossed plaything
surfing along the horizon
reck not this muffled warning.
My hostess cries compulsively
like a girl in the schoolyard
who let the runts line up and
spit in her mouth.
His slut breaks like a wave
and dies for love.
But remember, lady
what you’ve seen here tonight
has not really happened.
V.
A wren chirrups in the dust
as our cherished wolves
slink off with a newborn.
You need strength for this
roughshod business
similar to but not quite a vacation
where reflex soured at the outset.
It feels like a camera
is pointed at my heart
as he was always waiting to eat
the wicked frontier.
Now wander here
a million crazy stallions
the settler’s cabin is burning
with a bullet in your breast
you blurt into shadow
Hamlet’s first words and
Billy the Kid’s last:
¿Quien es?
Passionless poison
licking the smooth belly
with abandon
aching for direction
in the cinch of the reign.
Get me out of this ratty town
the sky pink as a pansy
in the palm of your hand
I’ve had enough
of acting like I like it.
To hell with your perversions
we’re riding off into the fucking sunset.
All the postures
and incipient voracity
mapped out in a sleepy wink
of a tadpole about to do something
he’s sure to regret.
Whoa Nelly, I’m afraid
you mistook the inside
of a boy’s asshole
for Plato’s cave.
