a sense of privacy..
there’s a child playing with garters
bedsheets over a slain lamb
roundrobin to a guilty place
and a man arches his back.
the raised brow of a wall
belonging and longing
a sigh of rattles and cribs empty.
the priest walks into a bar
and with a tremor orders
“A Virgin-sorry-a bloody Mary”.
melting glass on skin
there’s wax underneath her nails
a candle gripping slipping
slinking down her curves.
blown out smoke choking carousel,
there’s a door playing house
king Queen and Jack’s tumble
spinning out stitches of wick
and a stained chandelier thrusts
denying and spying.
the whore smiles to a waitress
“give me an orgasm on the rocks.”
and the crowds the nervous child,
mommy pours out daddy.
a routine of the unexpected
headline to boiling water,
screaming laughter.
a sense of this
a sense.