Swimming in Poets

the whore in her pink wig knows. how many steps. to reach the bottom. her eyes black with the piss of heaven. every breath is thirst. and only this can quench it. gods urinating. and devils' shit.

liars and children. hopeless without the wind. hungrier than they are. ghosts and windows. watching as nothing changes.

she waits for the music before she starts to dance. but the song is not as patient as she is. the wolf catches up. Beautiful fangs tempt her to be eaten again. Devoured. In that familiar lurch of pleasure. An eyelash suffocating in the cheek of god.

the whore in her wig knows. how much farther. her hair laden with the sick of disposable paradises. pretending to dance. as the music stiffens.

simple paths. quiet storms. she drifts away in a thunder. an open window. drowning in the glass.