August 29, 2013

Lurid service and special sauce
tossed over honey-salted buns:

God damn where am I where the lights
sparkle so; and solo starlets skinned
only in skivvies shake so smart;

Pam
hears everything but never answers, pink drink
of vodka and something wicked she stirs with
a pinky
thing.

God damn this is hell. The shades are loud and
so is what spews from under them,
it whips a friendly mind down. Dare then
dammit to get up and quit.

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