Exit 12

 

Exit 12.

 

Whore angel,

With naked feet and naked ankles,

Pouting empathy

And thus

Illegal.

 

Call me when you reach the parking lot

Of my cinderblock motel

And I will tell you Room 22

More efficiently than Comcast

 

I told you that the ocean waves

Were more brittle than brick

And you said:

-That’s strange, honey.

You are more lonely than Shakespeare-

 

Yes,

My Cinderella Dancer.

 

 

 

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3 thoughts on “Exit 12

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