written for a friend and muse, Cyrinda Foxe (R.I.P.) whom was featured in one of Andy Warhol’s films “Bad”, in Bowie’s video for “Jean Jeanie”, was David Johansen’s girl during the New York Dolls, and Steven Tyler’s bride. She was a blaze of glory.
Cyrinda in the Factory
She never surrendered To Andy Warhol’s gun Though she was bad She never really married She only wore blue jeans And fucked off all the punks For reasons left unseen And sent them back To streets where she belonged. Here’s to the bright young lads Who admired her pratfalls The goddess remains And to her memory I raise a glass and song And may her daughters do the same When they remembers her at all She was so bright and fell so far Like an Edie Sedgwick doll Though Andy tried to sell her off She strode across the avalanche Of cocaine bars and brawls She knew too much To really care at all For no man nor his lies She got that from her ma She understood The inevitability of it all Her songs live in the avalanche They come to haunt us all For there is nothing but the blues The invincibility of it all Her blonde ambition went so far She lived for music after all What did her daughters learn The inevitability of it all Though now they turn to worship Royalties as the dead men call. Edie I cannot believe How wasted I am It’s good even for me I don’t even enjoy it Bad wine is a poison I suggest you refrain I’m done and it’s Noon So give me a token I know all the rhymes To say I’m broken And now I am going to bed I’ll teach the masses to stare I’ve got a pill box hat So throw me a dime I guess I’m no beauty for sleeping For wearing new silk underwear There’s always a crypt somewhere leaking Another girl in despair There’s always a blow job awaiting A boy in clean tight underwear Here’s to the daughters of victims Of the hate that has no name They have the power They grimace And give birth to love again Cold comfort is all they are given So they give their tails a wag. Submission Give me a man worth The price of submission He is worth more than The price of admission I will cherish him more I get off on the juice I am so high A third dose Makes me want to survive I drank the poison Do you think you can I did not mean to call My V-8 was so loud Almost two weeks of baking In the Mexican sun Hot tubs under stars And a night on the town Is all I have to offer In Joshua town I’m happy to be anywhere The nonstop date palms Love it here A Margarita under the moon And a booster shot too I may live on a plantation I do not care A collision of forces Brought me here That is why they love me It is my hometown There are no castles burning The masters are too slow I wish we could Puncture them a hole. Mouse I remember your bravery When we began You lead me out roughly And held my hand You never once hurt me Or damaged my dress You did not twist my arm Or call me a mess Say you won’t leave me I’ve nothing to do But tap on my phone And say I love you So, throw me a bone I’ll bury it deep Or dig it up slowly Whenever I drink I’ll promise to end All of my fears I won’t gag your mouth I’ll swallow your tears You’ll call me a mouse It is no surprise I want to thank you For the disguise. Old Grow old Everything riddles again Never share your life with a stranger You won’t like the danger And this is the best breakfast I’ve ever had. I’m alone and Life is getting better There are plums from Rome Chocolates from the Andes I’m alone and I’m Drinking brandy. A day in this town Is a day for the locusts Someone just posted “Bright Blessings” Did I forget to focus? Are we not alone Did we discover the way I will doom scroll And find that GIF Or make them pay. Is my muse alive on this phone Is the leopard resting on her thigh I have no tears left I’ve forgotten the rest But I never compromise. Hank Pretty wasted For this hour of the morn Then I remember the reasons why Not all of them bad Not all of them sad I sound a little country But I might be jazz I’ve slowed way down I soared real high To the top of the candy mountain Where I died. I’m dancing with Hank Williams On the telephone We’re baked in the morning We’re fried at night Drying out’s for the oven I’m with Hank all night She’s just so heavy On my telephone From the top to the bottom I’ll be alone From the top to the bottom I’ll die alone. The Bell Won't Buzz The bell won’t buzz The toll won’t chime The phone will fade to gray I’ll lose my mind I’ll dial it down I will no longer pay The time will say Go and find a way Your muse is talking now She won’t shut down And then one day She’ll run you out of town I have my dharma I have my fate The play is plotted And it’s too late I want to love Into the night I want to kiss And never fight I want to go To Dublin now I want to go And wear a crown And write some songs And there’s a chance That London will remain. Nothing to Declare I have nothing to declare but my genius My ink pen exploded midair I have nothing to disclose But my heart is a rose I choose the highway with care I brought nothing but velvet And silk underwear And a few other things I could spare I bought nothing but prosecco Espressos and concertos And that is all I have to declare. Sad Ballad Do you remember how you were last night? You came to the bar and started singing You dug your claws into my arm The band began a playing. Do you remember where we were last night? Was it a dream, were we alright? I remember you last night You entered the room and started weeping. We drew our baths and started singing I kissed your lips You started thinking You made a joke I wasn’t thinking I threw you around We started weeping. Do you remember anything we said? Do you recall my words in your head? I wanted to dance I wanted your hand We ended that night Not how it began. The River is Wide The river is wide The ocean is far Do you know how Absolutely beautiful you are No more tests My heart is a mess No more looking at the stars No more wondering where you are No more me and No more you Hello darkness I love you No matter what No matter why Just ask then look into my eyes The reflection you see is you You hold my heart Inside your hand I know you understand. We Are not Six I need time to decide If I live or die I look to discover The reasons why. Sources tell me that Something’s wrong with me. I’m not easy when I Drink my tea I ask questions And I look real mean I get angry if people talk to me I’m not easy constantly. I forget to cross both T’s I walk off sets And hit the streets That’s something you should Know about me. I’m sad alone And I’m sad in town One day you’ll see me Breaking down When it happens I’ll say it’s me again One day you’ll see me Round the bend. I’m a graveyard girl And it’s getting late I fade to black Then I eat the cake. Your Poems Your poems Are like monologues I have an idea that You are like Shakespeare Let’s rewrite his lines Let’s rewrite our fears Lie in my arms I will guard your path And like a good muse I will let you pass I know about Jesus We’ll rewrite the book His infinite variety We’ll try not to hook With fingers and toes We will stay on the path To where he arose And we’ll never look back. A Thousand Cruelties A thousand cruelties Is what to expect A slow attrition A sudden death I hold on tightly And take the ride But a thousand omissions Lead to one bad night. They do not forgive Imperfection somehow They close you out slowly They know how They stand together and say Get through it somehow But really it is just The same old ball Lonely and empty and Ready to fall. I wanted the genius I got what I deserved I wanted the bridegroom I wanted his curse I gave my brother Another reprieve I found myself Another place to breathe. Twitter @ecusack4 Youtube: PoetryonTheRocksforLonelyHearts More Bob Dylan Inspired poems from Elizabeth Cusack (Poetry on the Rocks for Lonely Hearts) Poetry by Elizabeth Cusack inspired by the Dirty Three Poem by Elizabeth Cusack for Before I Turn Into Gold Day Bio: Elizabeth Cusack is a recovering actress. Ever since playing Rhoda Penmark in “The Bad Seed” as a child, deservedly, she has endeavoured to keep up her end of the bargain. Elizabeth has been blessed with the best of teachers over the years, mostly from the school of hard knocks. She has championed and performed in fringe theatre in America. Elizabeth edits her favourite poet while not otherwise inspired by her muse to write.
Fevers of the Mind 
My condolances.
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