in the 80s the girls are chained to amplifiers instead

the 80s bodies are really good at gyrating it’s how they show they’re alive.

the 40s bodies are really good at glamour it’s how they show they’re alive.

still vintage only the best conflicting images emerge ridiculous.

old pizazz you need glitz from a franchise glitz dealer. indefinite motown blissed intersection spilled neon.

the narrative can’t continue without the girl. she has to stand there she has to be wide-eyed. the physical absence of the girl would render the men in the scene incompetent.

an animated rose kissed into existence, then upon a dewdrop

a glimmer descends a waking gamine.


when shadows fall a blackout cracks a seam exposed in the skyscraper’s side.

[ the bow bikini / the bowler hat ]

a machine inside of a machine inside of a dancefloor inside of a world. a flower in the hair, white death spiraling imaginary.

no celebrities, just people. everyone gets at least once chance at feeling like that.

the muse’s costume is a shoulder-shrugged ruffle. glamorous as a cigarette, the waif as the nymph as a phoneme shift. love means a map all ruptured, then all of the holes cease to exist. automatons aren’t supposed to have feelings they are only there to inspire. kissed into existence no questioning lies truth. look up the word muse in the dictionary a grecian urn opens up into an album. upon the album the maiden musing timely tricks authorially. if the lady says she’s a muse she’s a muse. when the narrative’s doubles converse with the characters all of the syntax collapses. glitter is only supposed be reflective it’s a mistake to break the rules then you get a black hole. then never should have happened did. the nonexistent doesn’t matter anymore. there is no place because there is no self. kissed out of existence the girl has to try hard to die. falling in love with a mirror is a bad recipe for happiness.

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