Baby Face

Time drops off a cliff into the maw of her underwear sparkling in the clear cold—
Daughters of shame paint selfless odes—
Dropping to her knees utterly,
Vision beholden to glasses—
Ice is like wine to her thirsty maw
Red polyester slacks pressed to go
Diesel fuel in her veins going off like a car alarm—
My return is soft and solid as spit,
Dreaming in double vision the mother tackles the doctor in her lair—
Tina in her underpants slides on fishnet hose
Carol in her dark room,
Dazed and dreaming of fish and loaves
Her sighs unguarded—
Doe-eyed wistfulness transforms her into a fairy queen,
Dealing well with the devil and his pawns
In the underworld of shops minor deities subvert desire—
Decent women defiled by the same dead women glancing at stones
Reading holocaust memorial plaques and Ground zero picture books, residing in towers of stone—
Bare feet walking across their faces without panties to support her hose,
Knocked about and delirious, she shudders a capsule of dynamite—
Jealous of the Indian’s long hair like Jesus, the songs of her sister on her lips,
Her lungs filled with hardy smoke—
Doe-eyed wistfulness transforming her into a fairy queen, glancing backward as Narcissus Takes the reigns of his chariot and rides into the sun along the path so many others have taken—
Narcissus won’t be the last—
Tina in her underpants slides on fishnet hose
Carol in her dark room,
Dazed and dreaming of fish and loaves

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