Enough of teeth, I say. Let’s sell gelato.
Enough of radiant lights. Let’s smoke the casinos.
Let’s do it. Let’s do it all night long with women
And virtual cleavage.
Let’s sell them masks that look appealing
But reveal brittle bones.
And despite this revealing,
They will want it. They will want the mask,
They will breathe through the mask,
Listen to the money cursing &coins clinking
Through hard silver slots
As I slither around diamonds in clubs
Longing for one more collapse.
And the big eyes with their wallets,
Won’t see it. [The victims I hold under
The shallowest of shallows.] But if they do,
If they do,
Big eyes will believe these must have fallen.
Which in fact, they have.
For the Sunday Whirl