The deep ruby red throat opens
In a long black-blood tongue
Emitting a cradle-to-grave death smell
The scent of cheap-liquored liver death
Of crabbed-up scabby whores that didn’t bathe
The breath of the jittery-toothed old man
Nicotine brown stained
Dentures
That had been smoking since sixth grade
When he dropped out
And never knew what a toothbrush was
The possum on the side of the road
Three days in the high summer sun
Stomach bloated
To capacity
Maggots churning inside
In a fist.
The insects are fooled
As they land on her dark perfect skin
Only to commit
To her appetite
And fatal/fecal perfume.
No comments:
Post a Comment