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Vidya Jul 2011
the ****** on fifth street
don’t ask you to buy whiskey;
they take it from you.

there are too many
words—lascivious, lewd, *****—
used to describe them.

and too many names—
**** ***** harlot ***** *****—
used to deride them.

you want one tonight
someone who’ll snort ketamine
whose laugh sounds like bells.

someone to talk to
for thirty bucks an hour;
the best ones come cheap.

the best ones come drunk
(when they’re not doing molly)
and dance in the street.

the best ones wear rouge
that glows under streetlights and
rubs off on your lips.

the best ones **** quick
and leave quicker—out through the
back door, and lights out.
Vidya Jul 2011
this late in the afternoon
my tongue
circles itself
searching
for red velvet cake
earl grey
with
devonshire cream and scones
showing more concern for
spilled milk than spilled
blood
i know why
the mona lisa smiles
folds her hands over each
other
just so
(furtive)
i have met caged birds
and heard their songs
they are
not
alone.

— The End —