- The Public Education Of Betty Page (collaboration with Zazie:
http://www.zazie.at/Index/)
- Afternoon’s
Rosy Mouth
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“I think we’re alone now” the god whispered to the ice.
- And at
afternoon’s rosy mouth he entered, not breathing but still groin-deep
- in the glacier
while she stood with attendant apes in the bridal tent.
- All protest is
canceled pending tea
- and her rucksack
is pregnant with cucumber sandwiches.
- The god held a
brochure explaining the location of her bed
- but it was in a
language not yet adapted for man’s use
- having just been
extracted from deep inside the god’s gullet.
- “Open a little
wider” the god whispered to the woman,
- “Your mouth’s
a bed of flowers or a swinging floral door.
- The controls are
responding once more
- so we must rise
to rinse and sponge the mess
- from behind the
child’s wicker hamper.”
- One more shot
then rinse spit rinse spit into a small cup made of pressed orchids.
- I fear she is a
hand-tatted locomotive upon which we are carried to communion.
- She is a swift
pine omnibus. Any questions about her swift pine omnibus?
- The glare off the
bus’s cheap porcelain rails is our only salary
- and then it is
twilight.
- Her hand-tatted
locomotive steam subsides leaving a brochure.
- “Drink the
cocktail of my eyes” the god whispered to the omnibus.
- One more shot
then rinse spit rinse spit into a small cup made of pressed orchids.
- My heart holds
the hot water for her tea-gold hair
- and her
fathomable mouth rose in a pastry cloth beneath the scarred white trees
- and her smug
breasts add another damned rose or two to the scene.
- Her voice shyly
bends after the kisses that were thrown to the glacier’s floor
- when she rinses
them and gives them to the child.
- O mouth eating
the kiss on the voice’s stairs.
- O little floral
door.
- Rinse spit rinse spit into a small cup made of
pressed orchids.
JUST ANOTHER REUNION