"Beauty will be convulsive or will not be at all." Andre Breton.
Lover's Trough (My Favorite Bullet)
I lose the room in another pocket.
She is coddled by scoundrels in tandem.
I twist the stilts into an open belly. My own.
It's Friday afternoon. The patrons clap.
I applaud to keep them happy, but puke wood.
This causes me to fall over. I step
out of my mouth with flowers.
She exposes her breasts. My job here
is done.
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