Kevin Killian
AN AUDIENCE with KYLIE MINOGUE
for Justin Chin
The candy hearts, each one nobigger than a nail, spill out on formica:
“Love Me,” “Text Me,” “Class Act,” “E-Mail”
Wow, they have changed since
since in the days when I loved you
“Got Love?” says this one, hot yellow dot
on a table of faint gray. Here’s “Amore,”
something ethnic as I doll myself up
Heart in my throat, all itchy and fevered for my
audience with Kylie. Thinking quick
—like two triggers on two guns on each finger of the hands of Kali—
John Woo double bill baby! —Thinking like history
screwed in lightning I grab a few hearts
“Be Mine” and “Candy Girl” and thrust them into my
open palms, like blinky stigmatas. Then I pat
at the screen and the doctors pull back the linen
curtain. “My Boo.” “First Kiss.” “Dear One.”
Hello, I cry out, is anyone here? My heart
is beating faster and work is a disaster
nothing changed since the day
in which I turned against you and my
little thing got hard and rammed back at me
shotgun