POST-POETRY : HEY THERE SAILOR !


[immediately upon arriving the dock rises up to meet the returning victorious.]

@ the gambito, goransson, mcsweeney show, sailor-chic was the order of the evening, with mlles. mcsweeney & kaplan showing off their sea legs in summer stripes & navy while gambito & goransson rocked hip academic with square-framed accents. the room vibe was red + wine, as in, the belly of a lush whale, narcissistic like mirrored windows into itself. at the mic the wave rose up like first sigh sweet discreet before the natives came crashing cracked the bulwarks & do the twist, B*tCh3$zz. love like a suicide pact, king prion infected the sea & triton didn’t have a chance.

then some whores tanned the intrepid too hot & thrown off. servicing the servicemen w/ a glossy corset cinching sonnet cycles or worse, something indefinable tied up in language drunk in the daytime blues. as in, if you love it then you better get sexy & sell it. fleet week, dramatically, turned out in dress buttons stolen from the sidewalks & reamed out midtown.

NO POETS ALLOWED

in the brothel @ the back room, the madame captained lavishly in pickup khaki military chic. lucite wedges glimmered under stage lights willingly while strange meetings from the 40s in slim&hippy serenaded my favorite sister trio zombies in living color. we’re all working for the yankee dollah, holla !

& maracas, swing swing swing then a settee, then marched out on the staircase to sway the growing customer base. a hair of the cat kills merrily draped. across the seated reading a glimmering wave of flashbulb romance.

like a fire escape has to love its city. none of the best things are free, paid rusted, a knee. then a poker chip on fire. you have to make it last. take a taste from the porcelain glass. screw shore leave. come back.

 

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