Ballerina bowel movements (BBM)

Posted by Erik Moshe on Monday, April 23, 2012 Under: Poetry

Mrs. Miscreant ejaculated brail polish all over the town canvas
promise was the new lie garnish
she'd come from a respected enough family to wear it like perfume

power was in the hands of an armless ventriloquist that evening
she draw water from a wishing well that was rumored to be victim of dilution from immortality factory waste
in a glittery sewer right now it’s all part of the act
Pauline being the strident one of the bunch
always headed in the vertical angle, which could mean vertigo anal
her cleavage wrapped in pearly white fish scales
to charm the average adonis when it mattered most

a synchronized movement, like the tips of her toes guided
by the ghost of a paranormal skeptic
who'd never believed in ghosts or even belied the possibility
of millennias at a standstill
curtains drawn on a bronze ballroom platform
the balls of their feet like
slender whittled bug-backs with the texture of fluffy nectarines
though they moved
balancing on parsnips
on the shores of Trafalgar in silvery leather coifs wisping nothings to emissaries
they tapped their feet patiently
in waltzes through the wasteland patents
of blood eggs
of glass slippers - mediterranean craftsmanship
abandoned by the order of the Manchurian mandate
redistributed to every non-profit brothel
and methodone clinic in Paris, London, Prague, Zagreb, and Moscow
my view of the world is skewed by these cocaine sisters
whose nostrils flare under a Fendi purse colored sky
molesting Gettysburg with their footsteps
as the audience's central eyes twitch in a wave of picture perfect Parkinson’s syndrome

No one said Nazi dance recitals had to be boring

In : Poetry 

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