Joy of a Suburban Brothel

They disappear into shadow,
hollowed knocks, drowning out.
I feel like I lost a little piece of myself,
a key somewhere was dropped,
and the K-hole I fell through erupted ans spewed.
The raw contains of mangled life,
how to dispose forceful words like me.
Time of a collection, combined stories,
never to understand or to have ever understood.
Stiff realization liberates liquid truth,
dotting figures along the lines to sound.
Hooks, hooks, hooks…self-reliant.

Baby dolls have their fingers, but who cut off the toes.
Its brutal, I know,
is it these days I sit around,
endlessly staring out second story windows;
eye catching crimson neighbors,
Drapping themselves in harsh velvet.

23rd and 5th street led the direction,
towards divisions and brothel highways.
Mercifully it begins like it always has,
while I wait,
the roof tops along the identical way;
crave out customers.
While the girls appearance changes into the structure of an elegant Nico.

A baby shouts
Curled into the ball that bounces
About in a short amount of time
Ah time that elegant matter
So soft to the touch
But a deal I’d rather
leave behind in a dumpster
that was too close to the call
of a former employee that caught hold of my scent
a bastard of sorts that left a trail
not to far from my bed
But oh how that ‘hang loose’ attitude
Had taught me to better
Rise to the sun
Than to be found with the boys and girls
that had the scrapped bleeding knees
towards the lost generation of kids
that lived on a turnpike
forwarded to a season in hell
that snow-capped a mountain, atop of the waste land
where teenagers felt the soft skin of beautiful losers
Towards the tunnel of a hazardous fall
And it was into that turn, that turn of confessions
That led a venus in her furs
To an artificial land created in paradise.

Photo and Song by Kristen Fisher.

One Comment

  1. Posted October 10, 2012 at 1:35 pm | Permalink


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