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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