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.