Front page popularity;
modern day currency
when only straight hair
and conditioned pubes
will do. Bodies
dance and sing
in an Orwellian wet-dream
striving for recognition
and celebrity.
‘Sun’ darkened areolas
in December,
thick lipped, thin skinned,
jaundiced porcelain
stretched over skull.
Vocal chords channel Sinatra
and Johnny Cash
forging a career on borrowed talent.
The Queens head reflected
into dilated eyes; 1000 times.
Back-lit vodka and Rosé
glow behind the bar, smacking
demented faces with shrunken
dresses hoisted above bowed bole
legs; rhythmically twisting and tapping to repetitive
© National Poetry Labs


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