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The Spectacle of the Oscars

by James Croal Jackson


I can't stand it— in LA one year

Alex King and I were invited to


an Oscars party but in the midst

of another sad singing act we left


for tacos but still stood around on

the green and red tiles watching


a muted tv anyway I think Billy

Crystal was the host that year


the gleam in his eyes dead I

walked Sunset and Vine seeing


unsharpened pencil eyes all

these wannabes myself included


I peeked in one mirror to comb

hair and breathe into glass then


outlined my name inside a star

to leave a filthy myth somewhere