[click to enlarge]
Rusty Bagpipe Lungs
Her diaphragm expanding
infinitely with a crescendo,
her backyard
with all its beers.
her acid tongue,
bitten rough,
her newly crocheted stomach,
empty, without enough,
her always brushed teeth,
worn clean from all the LSD,
her tight appendages,
to the touch: cotton,
her "I don't know how to sing"
eyes, oily from gasoline.
her "Fuck you, you're the whores
Pigs and Politicians. Whatever,"
her, "I don't get to see you often...
What, I wasn't listening?"
Webs
She pirouettes
w/ cigarette-stained breath.
Daddy sinned,
the building sleeps, ratty business.
Fingerish spiders
lit on fire by vicious lighters.
"Hey, dust
mixed up with champagne just makes mud."
She whispered,
"You look too young to be an apple-kisser."
1 comment:
I think "Webs" is my favorite of yours, thus far.
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