sunshinesunderground
Bluelighter
Prostitute Polka
my farewell is a sentence in the obituary.
the ink runs like sweat on a prostitute’s neck,
down between her breasts,
decorated with cigarette burns.
an array of lost polka dots.
the fixed smile of a corpse upon a well-powdered face.
she grins with her legs spread wide;
she will swallow me with-
her cracked lips.
they seem to pulsate in this stillness.
like the glimpse
of a recognizable name
in the newspaper
soaking up the coffee
on your breakfast table
its legs spread wide
swallowing the ink.
my farewell is a sentence in the obituary.
the ink runs like sweat on a prostitute’s neck,
down between her breasts,
decorated with cigarette burns.
an array of lost polka dots.
the fixed smile of a corpse upon a well-powdered face.
she grins with her legs spread wide;
she will swallow me with-
her cracked lips.
they seem to pulsate in this stillness.
like the glimpse
of a recognizable name
in the newspaper
soaking up the coffee
on your breakfast table
its legs spread wide
swallowing the ink.
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