Wednesday

Outside The Angelica Theatre

I. Nothing Personal

There's a dead girl
splayed out on South street;
the slit-tit-to-twat reflex
of some human situation left to gel on the drag-
filleted in fuck-me rags with scream-pink thongs
yanked to dangle from an ankle
like the sex-crime victim in a Russ Meyer flick

but that's not Shari Eubank
face-up in technicolor,
mudhoney hair clotted to a curb;
just another vixen caught without her bad-bitch suit
when something smiled too long, stood too close-
kissed and told us all
what really happens when the movie's over.

II. While The Movie Played

Watch.
Closer than
this; lash to lid-

questions bead
on skin and something
answers:

nothing personal.

Just circumstance
caught without pomp
outside the angelica-

no resistance,
no matter.

Listen.
Harder than
that; lip to lobe-

something sniggers
it's all going to end,
nothing's everafter-

nothing personal.

6 comments:

southpaw said...

Fantastic stuff....

Thanks for dropping by my place and know that u've got a regular visitor, i like the style of writing and the choice of pictures out here, magnificant!!!

Adam said...

Not bad, but it needs to be messier. Maybe less alliteration would help.

With Hammer And Tong...The LetterShaper said...

Can't help it. I'm Alliter-sensitive...but I thank you for reading here.

Andy said...
This comment has been removed by a blog administrator.
Andy said...

I've been looking through a number of your poems and am impressed. I've added you to my blogroll, hope that's okay! x

Paperback Writer said...

Holy frijoles.

"the slit-tit-to-twat reflex"

Wonderful line.