I.

One night at the Troubadour I spotted this extraordinary girl.

So I asked who she was.

‘A professional,’

That was my introduction that on a scale of one to ten

there were women who were fifteens—beautiful, bright, witty, and

oh, by the way, they worked.

Once I became aware,

I saw these women everywhere.

And I came to learn that most of them were connected to Alex



II.

She had a printer engrave a calling card

that featured a bird of paradise

borrowed from a Tiffany silver pattern

and,
under it,

Alex’s Aviary,

Beautiful and Exotic birds.



A few were women you’d see lunching at Le Dôme:

pampered arm pieces with expensive tastes

and a hint of a delicious but remote sexuality.

Many more were fresh-faced, athletic, tanned, freckled

the quintessential California girl

That you’d take for sorority queens or future BMW owners.





III.

The mechanism of Alex’s sudden notoriety is byzantine,

as these things always are.

One of her girls took up with a rotter,

the couple had a fight,

he went to the police,

the police had an undercover detective visit

(who just happened to be an attractive woman)

and ask to work for her,

she all but embraced her

—and by April of 1988 the district attorney had enough evidence

to charge her with two counts of pandering

and one of pimping.

For Alex, who is fifty-six

and has a heart condition and diabetes,

the stakes may be high.

A conviction carries the guarantee of incarceration.

For the forces of law and order,

the stakes may be higher.

Alex has let it be known that she will subpoena

every cop she’s ever met to testify at her trial.

And the revelations this might produce

—perhaps that Alex compromised policemen

by making girls available to them,

—perhaps that Alex had a deal with the police to provide information

in exchange for their blind eye to her activities

—could be hugely embarrassing to the police and the district attorney.

For Alex’s socially correct clients and friends,

for the socially correct wives of her clients and friends

and for a handful of movie and television executives

who have no idea they are dating or

married to former Alex girls,

the stakes are highest of all.



IV.

Alex’s black book is said to be a catalogue of
Le Tout Los Angeles.

In her head are the ****** secrets

of many of the city’s most important men,

to say nothing of visiting businessmen and Arab princes.

If she decides to warble,

either at her trial or in a book,

her song will shatter more than glass.





V.

A decade ago, I went to lunch at Ma Maison,

There were supposed to have been ten people there,

but only four came.

One of them was a short woman

who called me a few days later and invited me to lunch.

When I arrived, the table was set for two.

I didn’t know who Alex was or what she did,

but she knew the important facts of my situation:

I was getting divorced from a very wealthy man

and doing the legal work myself

to avail lawyers who wanted to get a big settlement for me.


Occasionally, she said, I get a call for a tall, dark-haired,

slender, flat-chested woman

—and I don’t have any.

It wouldn’t be a frequent thing.

There’d be weekends away, sometimes in Palm Springs,

sometimes in Europe.

The men will be elegant,

you’ll have your own room

—there would be no outward signs of impropriety.

And you’d get $10,000 to $20,000 for a weekend.





VI.

The tall, slender, flat-chested brunette

didn’t think it was right for her.

Alex handed her a business card

and suggested that she think about it.

To her surprise, she did

—for an entire week.

This was 1978, and $20,000 then

was like $40,000 now,

I knew it was hooking,

but Alex had never mentioned ***.



Our whole conversation seemed to be about something else.



VII.

I was born in Manila

to a Spanish-Filipina mother and German father,

and when I was twelve

a Japanese soldier came into our house

with his bayonet pointed at us,

ready to do us in.

He locked us in and set the house on fire.

I haven’t been scared by much since that.



My mother always struck me as goofy,

so I jumped on a bus and ran away,

I got off in Oakland,

saw a help-wanted sign on a parish house,

and went in.

I got $200 a month for taking care of four priests.

I spent all the money on pastries for the parish house.

But I didn’t care.

It felt safe.

And the priests sparked my interest in the domestic arts

—in linen, in crystal.



A new priest arrived.

He was unpleasant,

so on a vacation in Los Angeles I took a pedestrian job,

still a teenager,

married a scientist.

We separated eight years later,

he took our two sons to another state

threatened to keep them if I didn’t agree to a divorce.

Keep them I said and hung up.

It’s not that I don’t have a maternal instinct

—though I don’t,

I just hate to be manipulated.



My second husband,

an alcoholic,

had Frank Sinatra blue eyes, and possibly

—I never knew for sure—

had a big career in the underworld

as a contract killer.

Years before we got serious,

he was going out with a famous L.A. ******,

She and her friends were so elegant

that I started spending time with them in beauty salons.

They were so fancy,

so smart

—and they knew incredible people,

like the millionaire who sat in his suite all day

just writing $5,000 checks to girls.



VIII.

I was a florist.

We got to talking.

She was a madam from England

who wanted to sell her book and go home.

I bought it for $5,000.

My husband thought it was cute.

Now you’re getting your feet wet.

Three months later,

he died.

After eleven years of marriage,

just like that.

And of the names in the book

it turned out

that half of the men were also dead.

When I began the men were old and the women were ugly.



IX.

It was like a lunch party you or I would give,

Great food Alex had cooked herself.

Major giggles with old pals.

And then,

instead of chocolate After Eight,

she served three women After Three



This man has seen a bit of life

beyond Los Angeles,

so I asked him how Alex’s stable

compared with that of Madam Claude,

the legendary Parisian procuress.

Oh, these aren’t at all like Claude’s girls,

A Claude girl was perfectly dressed and multilingual

—you could take her to the opera

and she’d understand it.





He told me that when she was 40

she looked at herself in the mirror

and said

Disgusting.

People over 40

should not have ***.

But She Was Clear That She Never Liked It

even when she was young.

Besides, she saw all the street business

go to the tall,

beautiful girls.

She thought that she never had a chance

competing against them.

Instead,

she would take their money by managing them.





X.

Going to a ****** was not looked down upon then.

It was before the pill;

Girls weren’t giving it away.

Claude specialized in

failed models and actresses,

ones who just missed the cut.

But just because they failed

in those impossible professions

didn’t mean they weren’t beautiful,

fabulous.



Like Avis

in those days,

those girls tried harder.

Her place was off the Champs,

just above a branch of the Rothschild bank, where I had an account.

Once I met her,

I was constantly making withdrawals and heading upstairs.





XI.

We took the lift

and Claude greeted us at the door.

My impression was that of the director

of an haute couture house,

very subdued,

beige and gray, very little makeup.

She took us into a lounge and made us drinks,

Whiskey,

Cognac.

There was no maid.

We made small talk for 15 minutes.

How was the weekend?

What’s the weather like in Deauville?

Then she made the segue. ‘I understand you’d like to see some jeunes filles?’

She always used ‘jeunes filles.’

This was Claude’s polite way of saying 18 to 25.

She left and soon returned

with two very tall

jeunes filles,

One was blonde.

This is Eva from Austria.

She’s here studying painting.

And a brunette,

very different,

but also very fine.

This is Claudia from Germany.

She’s a dancer.

She took the girls back into the apartment and returned by herself.

I gave my English guest first choice.

He picked the blonde.

And wasn’t disappointed.

Each bedroom had its own bidet.

There was some nice

polite conversation, and then



It was slightly formal,

but it was high-quality.

He paid Claude

200 francs,

not to the girls

In 1965, 200 francs was about $40.

Pretty girls on Rue Saint-Denis

could be had for 40 francs

so you can see the premium.

Still, it wasn’t out of reach for mere mortals.

You didn’t have to be J. Paul Getty.





XII.

A lot of them

were models at

Christian Dior

or other couture houses.

She liked Scandinavians.

That was the look then

—cold, tall, perfect.

It was cheap for the quality.

They all used her.

The best people wanted

the best women.

Elementary supply and demand.



XIII.

She had a camp number tattooed on her wrist. I saw it.

She showed it to me and Rubi.

She was proud she had survived.

We talked about the camp for hours.

It was even more fascinating than the girls.



She was Jewish

I’m certain of that.

She was horrified at the Jewish collaborators

at the camp who herded

their fellow Jews

into the gas chambers.

That was the greatest betrayal in her life.



XIV.

She was this sad,

lonely little woman.

Later, Patrick told me who she was.

I was bowled over.

It was like meeting Al Capone.

I met two of the girls

who worked for her.

One was what you would expect

Tall

Blonde

Model.

But the other looked like a Rat

Then one night

she came out

all dressed up,

I didn’t even recognize her.

She was even better than the first girl.

Claude liked to transform women like that.

That was her art.

It was very odd,

my cousin told me.

There was not much furniture

and an awful lot of telephones.

“Allô oui,”



XV.

I had so many lunches

with Claude at Ma Maison

She was vicious.

One day,

Margaux Hemingway,

at the height of her beauty, walked by.

Une bonne

—the French for maid

was how Claude cut her dead.

She reduced

the entire world

to rich men wanting *** and

poor women wanting money.

She’d love to page through Vogue and see someone

and say,

When I met her

she was called

Marlene

and she had a hideous nose

and now she’s a princess.

Or she’d see someone and say

Let’s see if she kisses me or not.

It was like

I made her,

and I can destroy her.

She was obsessed

with “fixing” people

—with Saint Laurent clothes,

with Cartier watches,

with Winston jewels,

with Vuitton luggage,

with plastic surgeons.



XVI.

Her prison number was

888

which was good luck in China

but not in California.

‘Ocho ocho ocho,’ she liked to repeat

Even in jail, she was always working,

always recruiting stunning women.

She had a beautiful Mexican cellmate

and gave her Robert Evans’s number

as the first person she should call

when she was released.



XVII.

Never have *** on the first date.



XVIII.

There will always be prostitution,

The prostitution of misery.

And the prostitution of bourgeois luxury.

They will both go on forever.



“Allô oui,”



It was so exciting to hear a millionaire

or a head of state ask,

in a little boy’s voice,

for the one thing

that only you could provide

It's not how beautiful you are, it's how you relate

--it's mostly dialogue.



She was tiny, blond, perfectly coiffed and Chanel-clad.

The French Woman: The Arab Prince, the Japanese Diplomat, the Greek Tycoon, the C.I.A. Bureau Chief — She Possessed Them All!



XIX.

She was like a slave driver in the American South

Once she took a *******,

the makeover put the girl in debt,

because Claude paid all the bills to

Dior,

Vuitton,

to the hairdressers,

to the doctors,

and the girls had to work to pay them off.

It was ****** indentured servitude.



My Swans.



It reached the point

where if you walked into a room

in London

or Rome

as much as Paris

because the girls were transportable,

and saw a girl who was

better-dressed,

better-looking,

and more distinguished than the others

you presumed

it was a girl from Claude.

It was, without doubt,

the finest *** operation ever run in the history of mankind.



**.

The girl had to be

exactly what was needed

so I had to teach her everything she didn’t know.

I played a little the role of Pygmalion.

There were basic things that absolutely had to be done.

It consisted

at the start

of the physical aspect

“surgical intervention”

to give this way of being

that was different from other girls.

Often they had to be transformed

into dream creatures

because at the start

they were not at all



Often I had to teach them how to dress.

Often they needed help

to repair

what nature had given them

which was not so beautiful.

At first they had to be tall,

with pretty gestures,

good manners.

I had lots of noses done,

chins,

teeth,

*******.

There was a lot to do.



Eight times out of ten

I had to teach them how to behave in society.

There were official dinners, suppers, weekends,

and they needed to have conversation.

I insisted they learn to speak English,

read

certain books.

I interrogated them on what they read.

It wasn’t easy.

Each time something wasn’t working,

I was obliged to say so.



You were very demanding?

I was ferocious.



It’s difficult

to teach a girl how to walk into Maxim’s

without looking

ill at ease

when they’ve never been there,

to go into an airport,

to go to the Ritz,

or the Crillon

or the Dorchester.

To find yourself

in front of a king,

three princes,

four ministers,

and five ambassadors at an official dinner.

There were the wives of those people!

Day after day

one had to explain,

explain again,

start again.

It took about two years.

There would always be a man

who would then say of her,

‘But she’s absolutely exceptional. What is that girl doing here?’ ”





XXI.

A New York publisher who visited

the Palace Hotel

in Saint Moritz

in the early seventies told me,

I met a whole bunch of them there.

They were lovely.

The johns wanted everyone to know who they were.

I remember it being said

Giovanni’s Madame Claude girl is going to be there.

You asked them where they came from and they all said

Neuilly.

Claude liked girls from good families.

More to the point she had invented their backgrounds.



I have known,

because of what I did,

some exceptional and fascinating men.

I’ve known some exceptional women too,

but that was less interesting

because I made them myself.



Ah, this question of the handbag.

You would be amazed by how much dust accumulates.

Or how often women’s shoe heels are scuffed.





XXII.

She would examine their teeth and finally she would make them undress.



That was a difficult moment

When they arrived they were very shy,

a bit frightened.

At the beginning when I take a look,

it’s a question of seeing if the silhouette

and the gestures are pretty.

Then there was a disagreeable moment.

I said,

I’m sorry about this unpleasantness,

but I have to ask you to get undressed,

because I can’t talk about you unless I see you.

Believe me, I was embarrassed,

just as they were,

but it had to be done,

not out of voyeurism, not at all

—I don’t like les dames horizontales.



It was very funny

because there were always two reactions.

A young girl,

very sure of herself,

very beautiful,

très bien,

would say

Yes,

Get up, and get undressed.

There was nothing to hide, everything was perfect.



There were those who

would start timidly

to take off their dress

and I would say

I knew already.

The rest is not sadism, but nearly.

I knew what I was going to find.

I would say,

Maybe you should take off your bra,

and I knew it wasn’t going to be

beautiful.

Because otherwise she would have taken it off easily.

No problem.

There were damages that could be mended.

There were some ******* that could be redone,

some not

Sometimes it can be deceptive,

you know,

you see a pretty girl,

a pretty face,

all elegant and slim,

well dressed,

and when you see her naked

it is a catastrophe.



I could judge their physical qualities,

I could judge if she was pretty, intelligent, and cultivated,

but I didn’t know how she was in bed.

So I had some boys,

good friends,

who told me exactly.

I would ring them up and say,

There’s a new one.

And afterwards they’d ring back and say,

Not bad,

Could be better, or

Nulle.



Or,

on the contrary,

She’s perfect.

And I would sometimes have to tell the girls

what they didn’t know.

A pleasant assignment?

No.

They paid.



XXIII.

Often at the beginning

they had an ami de coeur

in other words,

oh,

a journalist, a photographer, a type like that,

someone in the cinema,

an actor, not very well known.

As time went by

It became difficult

because they didn’t have a lot of time for him.

The fact of physically changing,

becoming prettier,

changing mentally to live with millionaires,

produced a certain imbalance

between them

and the little boyfriend

who had not evolved

and had stayed in his milieu.

At the end of a certain time

she would say,

I’m so much better than him. Why am I with this boy?

And they would break up by themselves.



Remember,

this was instant elevation.

For most of them it was a dream existence,

provided they liked the ***,

and those that didn’t never lasted long.

A lot of the clients were young,

and didn’t treat them like tarts but like someone from their own class.

They would buy you presents,

take you on trips.



XXIV.

For me, *** was something very accessoire

I think after a certain age

there are certain spectacles one should not give to others

Now I have a penchant for solitude.

Love, it’s a complete destroyer,

It’s impossible,

a horror,

l’angoisse.

It’s the only time in my life I was jealous.

I’m not a jealous person, but I was épouvantable.

He was jealous too.

We broke plates over each other’s heads;

we became jealous about each other’s pasts.

I said one day

It’s finished.

Sometimes I look at myself in the mirror and say:

Break my legs,

give me scarlet fever,

an attack of TB, but never that.

Not that.



XXV.

I called her into my office

Let us not exaggerate,

I sent her away.

She came back looking for employment,

but was fired again, this time for drugs.

She made menacing phone calls.

Then she arrived at the Rue de Boulainvilliers with a gun.

She shot three bullets

I was dressed in the fashion of Courrèges at this moment

He did very padded things.

I had a padded dress with a little jacket on top.

The bullet

—merci, Monsieur Courrèges

—stuck in the padding.

I was thrown forward onto the telephone.

I had one thought which went through my head:

I will die like Kennedy.

I turned round and put my hand up in a reflex.

The second bullet went through my hand.

I have two dead fingers.

It’s most useful for removing bottle tops.

In the corridor I was saved from the third bullet

because she was very tall

and I am quite petite, so it passed over my head.



XXVI.

There were men

who could decapitate,

****, and bomb their rivals

who would be frightened of me.

I would ask them how was the girl,

and they’d say

Not bad

and then

But I’m not complaining.

I was a little sadistic to them sometimes.

Some women have known powerful men because they’re their lover.

But I’ve known them all.

I had them all

here.



She will take many state secrets with her.



XXVI.

I don’t like ugly people

probably because when I was young

I wasn’t beautiful at all.

I was ugly and I suffered for it,

although not to the point of obsession.

Now that I’m an old woman,

I’m not so bad.

And that’s why

I’ve always been surrounded by people

Who

were

beautiful.

And the best way to have beautiful people around me

was to make them.

I made them very pretty.





XXVII.

I wouldn’t call what Alex gives you

‘advice,’

She spares you Nothing.

She makes a list of what she wants done,

and she really gets into it

I mean, she wants you to get your arms waxed.

She gives you names of people who do good facials.

She tells you what to buy at Neiman Marcus.

She’s put off by anything flashy,

and if you don’t dress conservatively, she’s got no problem telling you,

in front of an audience,

You look like a cheap *****!

I used to wear what I wanted when I went out

then change in the car into a frumpy sweater

when I went to give her the money she’d always go,

Oh, you look beautiful!



Marry your boyfriend,

It’s better than going to prison.

When you go out with her,

she’ll buy you a present; she’s incredibly generous that way.

And she’ll always tell you to save money and get out.

It’s frustrating to her when girls call at the end of the month

and say they need rent money.

She wants to see you do well.





We had a schedule, with cards that indicated a client’s name,

what he liked,

the names of the girls he’d seen,

and how long he’d been with them.

And I only hired girls who had another career

—if my clients had a choice between drop-dead-gorgeous

and beautiful-and-interesting,

they’d tend to take beautiful-and-interesting.

These men wanted to talk.

If they spent two hours with a girl,

they usually spent only five or ten minutes in bed.



I get the feeling that in Los Angeles, men are more concerned with looks.



XXVIII.

That was my big idea

Not to expand the book by aggressive marketing

but to make sure that nobody

mistook my girls for run-of-the-mill hookers.

And I kept my roster fresh.

This was not a business where you peddle your ***,

get exploited,

and then are cast off.

I screen clients. I’ve never sent girls to weirdos.

I let the men know:

no violence,

no costumes,

no fudge-packing.

And I talked to my girls. I’d tell them:

Two and a half years and you’re burned out.

Save your money.

This is like a hangar

—you come in, refuel, and take off.

It’s not a vacation, it’s not a goof.

This buys the singing lessons,

the dancing lessons,

the glossies.

This is to help you pay for what your parents couldn’t provide.

It’s an honorable way station—a lot of stars did this.



XXIX.

To say someone was a Claude girl is an honour, not a slur.



Une femme terrible.

She despised men and women alike.

Men were wallets. Women were holes.



By the 80s,

if you were a brunette,

the sky was the limit.

The Saudis

They’d call for half a dozen of Alex’s finest,

ignore them all evening while they

chatted,

ate,

and played cards,

and then, around midnight,

take the women inside for a fast few minutes of ***.



They’d order women up like pizza.



Since my second husband died,

I only met one man who was right for me,

He was a sheikh.

I visited him in Europe

twenty-eight times

in the five years I knew him

and I never slept with him.

He’d say

I think you fly all the way here just to tease me,

but he introduced me

by phone

to all his powerful friends.

When I was in Los Angeles, he called me twice a day.

That’s why I never went out

he would have been disappointed.



***.

Listen to me

This is a woman’s business.

When a woman does it, it’s fun

there’s a giggle in it

when a man’s involved,

he’s ******,

he’s a ****.

He may know how to keep girls in line,

and he may make money,

but he doesn’t know what I do.

I tell guys: You’re getting a nice girl.

She’s young,

She’s pleasant,

She can do things

she can certainly make love.

She’s not a rocket scientist, but she’s everything else.



The world’s richest and most powerful men, the announcer teased.

An income “in the millions,” said the arresting officer.

Pina Colapinto

A petite call girl,

who once slid between the sheets of royalty,

a green-eyed blonde helped the police get the indictment.

They really dolled her up

She looks great.

Never!

What I told her was: ‘Wash that ******.’





XXXI.

Madam Alex died at 7 p.m.

Saturday at Cedars-Sinai Medical Center,

where she had been in intensive care after recent open heart surgery

We all held her hand when they took her off the life support

This was the passing of a legend.

Because she was the mother superior of prostitution.

She was one of the richest women on earth.

The world came to her.

She never had to leave the house.

She was like Hugh Hefner in that way.


It's like losing a friend

In all the years we played cat and mouse,

she never once tried to corrupt me.

We had a lot of fun.


To those who knew her

she was as constant

as she was colorful

always ready with a good tidbit of gossip

and a gourmet lunch for two.

She entertained, even after her conviction on pandering charges,

from the comfy depths of her blue four-poster bed at her home near Doheny Drive,

surrounded by knickknacks and meowing cats,

which she fed fresh shrimp from blue china plates.



XXXII.

She stole my business,

my books,

my girls,

my guys.

I had a good run.

My creatures.

Make Mommy happy

Oh! He is the most enchanting cat that I have ever known.



She was, how can I say it,

classy.

When she first hired me

she thought I was too young to take her case.

I was 43.

I'm going to give you some gray hairs by the time this is over.

She was right.





XXXIII.

I was fond of Heidi

But she has a streak that is so vindictive.



If there is pure evil, it is Madame Alex.





XXXIV.

I was born and raised in L.A.

My dad was a famous pediatrician.

When he died, they donated a bench to him at the Griffith Park Observatory.



I think that Heidi wanted to try her wings

pretty early,

and I think that she met some people

who sort of took all her potential

and gave it a sharp turn



She knew nothing.

She was like a little parrot who repeated what she was supposed to say.



Alex and I had a very intense relationship;

I was kind of like the daughter she loved and hated,

so she was abusive and loving at the same time.



Look, I know Madam Alex was great at what she did

but it's like this:

What took her years to build,

I built in one.

The high end is the high end,

and no one has a higher end than me.

In this business, no one steals clients.

There's just better service.



XXXV.

You were not allowed to have long hair

You were not allowed to be too pretty

You were not allowed to wear too much makeup or be too glamorous

Because someone would fall in love with you and take you away.

And then she loses the business



XXXVI.

I was pursued because

come on

in our lifetime,

we will never see another girl of my age

who lived the way I did,

who did what I did so quickly,

I made so many enemies.

Some people had been in this line of business

for their whole lives, 30 or 40 years,

and I came in and cornered the market.

Men don't like that.

Women don't like that.

No one liked it.



I had this spiritual awakening watching an Oprah Winfrey video.

I was doing this 500-hour drug class

and one day the teacher showed us this video,

called something like Make It Happen.

Usually in class I would bring a notebook

and write a letter to my brother or my journal,

but all of a sudden this grabbed my attention

and I understood everything she said.

It hit me and it changed me a lot.

It made me feel,

Accept yourself for who you are.

I saw a deeper meaning in it

but who knows, I might have just been getting my period that day!



XXXVII.

Hello, Gina!

You movie star!

Yes you are!

Gina G!

Hello my friend,

Hello my friend,

Hello my movie star,

Ruby! Ruby Boobie!

Braaawk!

Except so many women say,

Come on, Heidi

you gotta do the brothel for us; don't let us down.

It would be kind of fun opening up an exclusive resort,

and I'll make it really nice,

like the Beverly Hills Hotel

It'll feel private; you'll have your own bungalow.

The only problem out here is the climate—it's so brutal.

Charles Manson was captured a half hour from Pahrump.



I said, Joe! What are you doing?

You gotta get, like,

a garter belt and encase it in something

and write,

This belonged to Suzette Whatever,

who entertained the Flying Tigers during World War II.

Get, like, some weird tools and write,

These were the first abortion tools in the brothel,

you know what I mean?

Just make some **** up!

So I came out here to do some research

And then I realized,

What am I doing?

I'm Heidi Fleiss. I don't need anyone.

I can do this.

When I was doing my research, in three months

I saw land go from 30 thousand an acre

to 50 thousand an acre,

and then it was going for 70K!

It's urban sprawl

—we're only one hour from Las Vegas.

Out here the casinos are only going to get bigger,

prostitution is legal, it's only getting better.





XXXVIII.

The truth is

deep down inside,

I just can't do business with him

He's the type of guy who buys Cup o' Noodles soup for three cents

and makes his hookers buy it back from him for $5.

It's not my style at all.

Who wants to be 75 and facing federal charges?

It was different at my age when I

at least...come on, I lived really well.

I was 22,

25 at the time?

It was fun then, but now I wouldn't want

to deal with all that *******

—the girls and blah blah blah.

But the money was really good.



I would've told someone they were out of their ******* mind

if they'd said in five years I'd be living with all these animals like this.

It's hard-core; how I live;

It's totally a nonfunctional atmosphere for me

It's hard to get anything done because

It’s so time-consuming.

I feel like they're good luck though....

I do feel that if I ever get rid of them,

I will be jinxed and cursed the rest of my life

and nothing I do will ever work again.



Guys kind of are a hindrance to me

Certainly I have no problem getting laid or anything.

But a man is not a priority in my life.

I mean, it's crazy, but I really have fun with my parrots.



XXXIX.

I started a babysitting circle when I wasn't much older than 9

And soon all the parents in the neighborhood

wanted me to watch over their children.

Even then I had an innate business sense.

I started farming out my friends

to meet the demand.

My mother showered me with love and my father,

a pediatrician,

would ask me at the dinner table,

What did you learn today?

I ran my neighborhood.

I just pick up a hustle really easily,

I was a waitress and I met an older guy who looked like Santa Claus.



Alex was a 5' 3" bald-headed Filipina

in a transparent muu muu.

We hit it off.

I didn't know at the time that I was there to pay off the guy's gambling debt.

It's in and out,

over and out.

Do you think some big-time producer

or actor is going to go to the clubs and hustle?



Columbia Pictures executive says:

I haven’t done anything that should cause any concern.

Jeez, it's like the Nixon enemies list.

I hope I'm on it.

If I'm not, it means I must not be big enough

for people to gossip about me.



That's right ladies and gentlemen.

I am an alleged madam and that is a $25 *****!

If you live out here,

you've got to hate people.

You've got to be pretty antisocial

How you gonna come out here with only 86 people?

That's Fred.

He's digging to China.

You look good.

Yeah, you too.

It's coming along here.

Yeah, it is.

I wanted to buy that lot there, but I guess it's gone?

That's mine, man! That's all me.

Really?

I thought there was a lot between us.

No. We're neighbors.



He's a cute guy

He's entertaining.

See, I kind of did do something shady to him.

I thought my property went all the way back

and butted up against his.

But there was one lot between us right there.

He said he was buying it,

but I saw the 'For Sale' sign still up there,

So I went and called the broker and said,

I'm an all-cash buyer.

So I really bought it out from under him.

But he's got plenty of room, and I need the space for my parrots.

Pahrump will always be Pahrump, but Crystal is going to be nice

All you need are four or five fancy houses and it'll flush everyone out

and it'll be a nice area.

They're all kind of weird here, but these people will go.

Like this guy here,

someone needs to **** him.

I was just saying to my dad that these parrots are born to a really ******-up world

He goes, Heidi, no, no; the world is a beautiful garden.

It's just, people are destroying it.

I’m looking into green building options

I don't want anything polluting,

I want a huge auditorium,

but it'll be like a jungle where my birds can really fly!

Where they can really do what they're supposed to do.

There were over 300 birds in there!

That lady,

She ran the exotic-birds department for the Tropicana Hotel,

which is a huge job.

She called me once at 3:30 in the morning

Come over here and help me feed this baby!

Some baby parrot.

And I ran over there in my pajamas

—I knew there was something else wrong

and she was like

Get me my oxygen!

Get me this, get me that.

I called my dad; he was like,

I don't know, honey, you better call the paramedics.

They ended up getting a helicopter.

And they were taking her away

in the wind with her IV and blood and everything

and she goes, Heidi, you take care of my birds.

And she dies the next day.

She was just a super-duper person.



XL.

I relate to the lifestyle she had before,

Now, I'm just a citizen.

I'm clean,

I'm sober,

I'm married,

I work at Wal-Mart.

I'm proud to say I know her. I look into her eyes

and we relate.





I got out in 2000,

so I've been sending her money for seven years

She was…whatever.

Girlfriend?

Yeah, maybe.

But ***, I tried like two times,

and I'm just not gay.

She gets out in about eight or nine months

and I told her I would get her a house.

But nowhere near me.

I didn't touch her,

but I'd be, like...

a funny story:

I told her,

Don't you ever ******* think

about contacting me in the real world.

I'm not a lesbian.

Then about two years ago, I got an e-mail from her,

or she called me and said, 'Google my name.'

So I Googled her name,

and she has this huge company.

Huge!

She won, like, Woman of the Year awards.

So I called her and I go,

Not bad.

She goes, 'Well, I did all that because you called me a loser.'

I go, '****, I should've called you more names

you probably would've found the cure for cancer by now.



XLI.

No person shall be employed by the licensee

who has ever been convicted of

a felony involving moral turpitude

But I qualify,

I mean, big deal, so I'm a convicted felon.

Being in the *** industry, you can't be so squeaky-clean.

You've got to be hustling.

Nighttime is really enchanting here

It's like a whole 'nother world out here, it really is

I’m so far removed from my social life and old surroundings.

Who was it, Oscar Wilde, I think, who said

people can adjust to anything.

I was perfectly adjusted in the penitentiary,

and I was perfectly adjusted to living in a château in France.



We had done those drug addiction shows together

Dr. Drew.

Afterward we were friendly

and he'd call me every now and then.

He'd act like he had his stuff together.

But it was all a lie.

Everything is a lie.

I brought him to a Humane Society event at Paramount Studios last year.

He was just such a mess.

So out of it.

He stole money from my purse.

He's such a drug addict because he's so afraid of being fat.

He liked horse ****, though. He did like horse ****.

This one woman that would have *** with a horse on the internet,

He told me that’s his favorite actress.

Better than Meryl Streep.



XLII.

The cops could see

why these women were taking over trade.

Girls with these looks charged upwards of $500 an hour.

The Russians had undercut them with a bargain rate of $150 an hour.

One thing they are not is lazy.

In the USSR

they grew up with no religion, no morality.

Prostitution is not considered a bad thing.

In fact, it’s considered a great way to make money.

That’s why it’s exploding here.

What we saw was just a tip of the iceberg.

These girls didn’t come over here expecting to be nannies.

They knew exactly what they wanted and what they were getting into.

The madam who organized this raid

was making $4 million a year,

laundered through Russian-owned banks in New York City

These are brutal people.

They are all backstabbers.

They’re entrepreneurs.

They’re looking at $10,000 a month for turning tricks.

For them, that’s the American dream.



XLIII.

If you’re not into something,

don’t be into it

But,

if you want to take some whipped cream,

put it between your toes,

have your dog licking it up and,

at the same time,

have your girlfriend poke you in the eye,

then that’s fine.

That’s a little weird but we shouldn’t judge.



She was my best friend then

and I consider her one of my best friends now,

because when I was going through Riker’s

and everyone abandoned me,

including my boyfriend,

I was hysterical,

crying,

and she was the one that was there.

And, when somebody needed to step up to the plate,

that’s who did, and I have an immense amount of

loyalty, respect, and love for her.

And if she’s going to prison for eight years

—that’s what she’s sentenced for

—I’ll go there,

and I’ll go there every week,

for eight years.

That’s the type of person I am.

I get dolled up
For no good reason.
Hair and makeup
It's that season.

To get dolled up
With no where to go.
No one wants to party or hang out.
So I'm stuck, dolled up, alone.

What a doll face I have
So pale with light freckling.
Pursed lips, pink tint
Bright eyes, sparkling.

A cute curvy doll.
With dark chestnut above
Graced with a pretty face
That no one will love

Even the idea was worthy of a fight
and all too much preparation.
We dolled ourselves up for alienation,
even though the faces present
were so familiar and etched into memory.

Who are you Mr.Cool?
If that is your real name.
Whiskey breath and filterless smokes
only impresses the girls in the movies,
with scripts written by clueless men
like you, who can't supply injury
so they bring only insult.

You are a secretary bird,
a mime, and the copycat kid.
Trying to be a bad boy and hide
amongst the spoiled brats you claim.

Keep on burrowing and severing ties,
ravishing resources leads to ruin.

You say you've heard rumors?
Well, I've heard facts.
I've seen facts!

Your parasitic disguise will crumble
under the weight of your genuinely selfish persona.
While the company I keep will only know
the side you wished to reveal
in front of all the pretty boys and girls.

red lips. flushed cheeks.
you're getting all dolled up!
she looks at me. really looks at me. sees through the heat.
smiles knowing my insides don't match the pretty picture. looks at me.
like i am something fantastic. spun from fairytales.
sewn in glittery patches across ratty old jeans.
her gaze hits me. you don't need your hands to slap.

the silk is unraveling and revealing imperfections. she stays. she watches.
more heat comes from her gaze than my fires.
the air is thick. mouth drops open. eyebrows scrunch.
incoherent sounds release from my lips. she sits. observes the show.

she takes me in. all of me. even the parts idon'twanthertosee.
and writes. and listens. and examines.
she unravels my fantasies and spins her own story.

I've been taken advantage of.
I've been lied to a thousand times.
My mind is awfully broken now,
Adn my body is riddled with lines.

I can't believe you did this to me
After you said you loved me.
In the end, it was just a trap,
And the ransom was my sanity.

I made myself pretty for you,
Dolled up with bows and paint.
It was never good enough though.
You stole more of me every day.

I tore myself apart because
I couldn't be enough.
Even then you yelled at me
"Get over it.. Life is tough"

You never believed me when I said
A thing you didn't like.
I told you I hated you in my life
Always feeding me molten lies.

Even then, you pushed me away
And tore me limb from limb.
Everything I did to myself
Was caused by you, mum, not him.

The Mathematician

“Hey Mr. Morris, I’m struggling to grasp these new math problems you have us working on.
Next week, I’m going on a family vacation and will be gone,
so, I’m wondering if you would be able to help me understand these problems after school today.
Unless you have big plans right after school, in that case, I wouldn’t want to cause you any type of delay.”

“Erin, you are my best student.
You’re getting an A in the class, never late and never truant.
I really don’t think you need my help on this.
I’m sure you will get yet another A on your next test and look back on this moment and reminisce
about the time that you lost confidence in yourself for a moment and asked for help you didn’t need.
Study a little longer and harder tonight and by tomorrow you will have it down packed, I know you agree.”

“I’m asking you for help because I want to keep my A and don’t want to slip up this late in the semester.
Look, if I wasn’t seriously having doubts about this, I wouldn’t come to you and pester.
Besides my parents, you are my biggest investor,
in believing that I am capable of becoming something greater than just a jester.”

“Fine, I’ll help you.  Are you able to come to my house tonight around six?
This study session shouldn’t take longer than an hour, as long as I stay on track and avoid talking politics.”

I smile and agree to the six-o clock meet up happy as a girl can be.
Butterflies tingle in my stomach, I’m so full of glee.
Too be honest, I don’t need his help.
I know exactly what I’m doing with the current curriculum.
My plan with Mr. Morris today involves something a little more…extracurricular.
I know what my friends will say.
I understand that they will beg and plea with me to keep my tenebrous desires at bay,
but I can no longer deny them.
Just like when you’re sick with the flu, you cannot deny the phlegm.
I’m in love with Mr. Morris.
I’m in love with him.
Tonight, I will make my move and cement my place by his side as his queen.
We can keep it a secret until I turn eighteen.
I see the way his eyes marvel at me.
He **** well knows my age might say sixteen, but I look twenty-three.
He eye ***** me every day in class.
I always flirt with him and ask him if I can get him some more water, just so I can hold onto is favorite glass.
He’s so handsome, kind and strong.
Tonight, he will introduce me to his bed where we both belong.
I’ve saved myself just for him.
I’m done with the flirting, that was just to prelim.
Tonight, we will consummate our relationship.
He is mine and I am his.

I tell my best friend Jade about my plan.
She immediately shuns me since she’s not a fan.
She tells me the last girl that went over to Mr. Morris’s house to get extra help was never seen again.
She tells me to stop thinking with my hormones and think with my brain.
I’m sixteen and he’s thirty-two.
She tells me he’s very mature and I haven’t got a clue.
She storms off after I refuse to back down from my plan.
I will show her my love for him is not a scam.

It is true that a girl he was supposed to help two years ago did go missing.
Everyone thought they ran off together after one person claimed to have seen them kissing.
It was proven he had nothing to do with her disappearance.
The police interrogated him for hours showing some real perseverance.
In the end, he was proven innocent.
No one could link him to her disappearance or to the kiss.
Kiss be true or not, tonight I want my kiss and more.
I want us in bed naked with our clothes scattered all over the floor.
I’m going to put on a thong and wear my sexiest skirt just for him.
He’s going to find out I’m not an innocent little church girl who likes to sing hymns.
I’m giving him my innocence so he can turn me into a woman.
His woman!
And he’ll be my man!
I’m putting myself out there tonight, hopefully everything goes according to plan.
__________________­

I’m looking in the bathroom mirror getting myself all dolled up.
Looking my very best for tonight is my first step towards becoming Mrs. Morris and once we are together, there will be no breaking up.
Ahh, yes, my makeup is right on point!
Looking like this…so hot and fine…I’m sure I won’t disappoint.
I have on my skimpiest thong and shortest of skirts.
O god, I wonder how he is in bed.  Hopefully good enough to make me squirt.
A girl squirting looks like so much fun in the *****’s I’ve seen.
Being able to squirt would make me a unique cuisine.
Ok, I’m dolled up, looking great and ready to go,
now time to sneak out of house without my parents seeing and calling me a *****.
They would not approve of me going to see my teacher looking like this.
They would lock me in my bedroom and throw away the key down a dark abyss.
__________________­__

I pull up and park on the side of the road next to Mr. Morris’s home.
My nerves are starting to get to me, I hope I’m doing the right thing and my brain is in fact not short a few chromosomes.
My heart is fluttering.
My mind is wondering.
My hormones are restructuring.
My ****** is quivering.
My looks are on point and flattering.
Time to make my move and end my head and my hearts bantering.

I get out of my car and walk up to the front door.
I know I dressed provocative, I just hope I don’t come off as a desperate *****.
The sky above me is darkening as storm clouds are moving in.
A rain storm won’t dampen my mood or wipe away my grin.
I take a deep breath, hoping this goes well.
If I was a good Christian girl, I would be terrified that this night would **** me to hell.
I knock on the door and Mr. Morris is quick to answer.
He eyes me up, smiles, invites me in all while letting out a slight laughter.

“Erin, not to cross any teacher student lines, but you look incredible.
If you were 18… I would ask that for just one night if you were rentable.
Dear god…I just made a ******* joke with one of my underage students.
Let’s…forget that comment just happened and focus on your mathematics skills so you can ease your mind and not have to worry about showing improvement.
Go ahead and sit down, I’m going to grab a glass of wine would you like one?
My way of showing you I’m sorry for that ******* comment and that outside of school I can be fun.”

I make myself comfortable on the couch and spread my legs a bit,
quickly check myself in my makeup containers mirror and ensure I’m still looking good in my outfit.
Mr. Morris returns with two glasses of wine and sits down next to me.
He’s sitting right next to me, right where I want him to be.
I take a sip of the wine and thank him for the drink,
spread my legs apart a bit further hoping he notices my thong, it’s bright pink.

“So what do you need my help on Erin?
You have an hour, then I have to meet up with my ex-wife Sharon.”

“Well, Mr. Morris…”

“You can call me Chris, Erin.”

I smile, first name basis already, this is going well.
I wonder what cologne he is wearing, I sure like it’s smell.
His eyes are dreamy; I could stare into them and get lost all night.
I can feel my love for him in my heart, I know what we are about to do is right.

“Well, Chris, I lied to you earlier today.
I didn’t come here seeking help with my work, rather to play.
I understand all of my work completely, I don’t need your help with it at all.
What happens next is ultimately your call,
but I came here dressed like this hoping you would be impressed.
I want us to be intimate so I can always help you relieve your stress.
I love you and want to be with you.
If you ever feel like you’re falling apart, you can turn to me to be your glue.
We can keep this all a secret until I’m 18 and graduated.
After that, we can go public and our love will never be debated.
I’ve saved myself for you and I want you right here, right now.
Do to me everything my parents would never allow!”

“Erin…I would lose my career, face prison time if anyone ever found out.
I know you promise to keep quiet but I have my doubts.
Every teacher-student relationship eventually gets found out about.
If we did this right now, every day in class I would want to bend you over my desk and make you shout
my name out loud over and over again and have my doubts I would be able to control myself around the other students in class.
Trust me I want to, more than I want to light up some grass,
but I just don’t think it’s a good idea.
Besides, you don’t know where I’ve been so you could end up with gonorrhea.”

“You’re not going to stop this from happening.
The thought of leaving here without getting what I want is maddening.
I understand that keeping this quiet will be challenging,
but we will master the technique of balancing
our separate public life and our closed off private life together.
Come on Chris, come get me and punish me, you don’t have to be sweet and tender.”

I see the conflict in Chris’s eyes as he loses control and plants a kiss on me.
His eyes tell me he is nervous and is debating whether he should stay or flee,
however, he takes things to the next level and invades my mouth with his tongue.
He needs to look past the fact that I’m young.
I’m mature and know what I want in life.
I want Chris and to one day be his wife!

After a few minutes of hot and heavy kissing,
Chris makes the next move towards providing me with what I’ve been missing.
He moves me onto his lap and while still kissing me, begins to life my shirt up and off of me.
Everything is going just how I imaged it would be.
With my shirt, off, Chris takes off my bra and begins ******* on my *******.
I place my mouth on his ear and begin to nibble.

Just as things are about to heat up some more,
thunder cracks open the sky and nearly knocks us down to the floor.
The power in the house instantly does out and we are left in the dark.
“O well, forget the power let’s keep going,” is my remark.

Chris tells me we need to pause.
He tells me we can pick things up in a few minutes because
down in his basement he has a generator he needs to start up to get the power back on.
I look at him with a frown.
He tells me to hang on tight he will be right back.
He doesn’t want us blindly navigating his house in the black.
As Chris adventures downstairs, I decide to take a look around his living room.
He should only be gone a few minutes, I assume.
I notice and bookcase in the living room and decide to take a look at what books he likes to read.
They may tell me some more about my love before we begin to breed.
Can’t hurt to learn more about him.
I would be surprised to find a book full of hymns.
He doesn’t seem the type who would enjoy singing them.
Maybe he has a book that will teach me about investing money so I can have a steady income.
“Total Eclipse of The Sun,” what in the world is this?
It’s written by some dude I never heard of, it must ****.

I pick the book up off the shelf to take a closer look at it.
As I pick the book up, something happens that leaves me shocked, a hard fact to admit.
The book shelf begins to turn into the wall exposing a hidden room.
My heart is instantly filled with a feeling of doom.
Nerves shoot up and down my spine causing my arm hairs to stand up like static.
**** is starting to get dramatic.
My breathing begins to quicken and become fanatic.
What exactly is hidden in this room might be problematic.
Do I dare go in and take a look?  What I find may be traumatic.
Having a hidden room in your home is quite climatic.

I decade, against my better judgement, to go in and take a look around.
I walk into the room and notice an absence of sound.
I notice two rooms located towards the back of the main room.
I’m definitely no longer in my bedroom.

I go to the first room and take a look inside.
What I see inside leaves me mouth hanging open wide.
There is a table with straps attached to it,
used to tether someone down and get them to submit.
There are multiple belts, ropes, hand cuffs and *** toys.
The room appears to conceal noise.
Is this the room Chris plans to take me too?
I feel sick, maybe I should bail and tell Chris I’m coming down with the flu.

Nervously and again against my better judgement, I decide to check out the second room.
What I discover…the horrific scene I uncover…leaves me to believe I’m not leaving this house without being placed in a tomb.
I discover a young girl, nearly nine months pregnant chained up looking miserable on the hard, concrete floor.
Tears begin to fall from my eyes as fear overcomes me as to who exactly I have fallen for.
I recognized this girl, it’s the same girl who was rumored to have visited Chris then went missing two years ago.
The same girl he was cleared of having anything to do with her disappearance.
He hid her in this room where she would never be discovered and used her as a *** slave.
This man is depraved.
I ask the girl if she is ok but she doesn’t respond.
The horrors she has had to endure the past two years is beyond
my wildest imagination.
I again ask her if she is ok, this time showing real compassion.
Again, she doesn’t say a word.
She looks at me but her eyes appear to be heavily medicated.
She’s drugged and unable to even speak.
I need to get out of here before this freak…

A hand covers my mouth and a needle is stuck into my neck.
Everything around me immediately turns black.
----------------------------------------------------------­---------------------------------------

My eyes slowly open.
I discover I have been strapped down to the table in the first room.
My body has been stripped naked.
My legs have strapped, spread apart exposing my ****** for the whole world to see.
A gag has been placed in my mouth, I’m unable to speak.
**** is really beginning to look bleak.
“I’m sorry I have to do this to you Erin.
You really are a daring girl who’s fun and caring.
However, you have discovered my dark secret.
Unfortunately for you, it appears my dark secret is about to have a sequel.
I really wanted us to have a real relationship.
I didn’t want it to come to this, I wanted us to have a real, legitimate courtship,
but you had to go snoop around the second I turned my back and found something you shouldn’t have.
Listen to me closely Erin, this will go a lot easier for you if you listen to me and behave.
I want you to answer a few questions for me ok?
Yes or no questions so shake your head to answer.
Did you tell anyone you were coming to my house tonight?”

I shake my head no.

“Did your parents know you were coming here to get help with some homework you were struggling with.”

I shake my head no.

“Did you tell any of your friends you were coming here tonight?”

I shake my head no.

“Ok good, so I have some good news for you.  I’m going to help you with a math problem right now.”

Chris pulls down his pants and exposes himself.

“We are going to find out how many times nine inches goes into you.”

Chris gives me a devilish smile as he gets on top of me and places himself next to the opening of my slit.
My eyes fill with water as tears begin to flood out of them, I’m losing it.
Chris gives me a kiss on the check then forcefully and without warning thrusts all nine inches of himself into my ****** slit.
Blood pours out of me as I go to scream out in pain but the gag won’t permit it.
He trusts back and forth over and over again going harder and harder each time.
I wanted this moment to be sublime,
instead my body begins shaking uncontrollably as pain invades and conquers.
This whole situation is ******* bonkers.
After twenty minutes of being badly abused the pain becomes to much.
My eyes close and I black out to the world around me.
-------------------------------------------------------------­------------------------------------


Knock.
Knock.
Knock.

“Sar­gent Armstrong what an unpleasant surprise.
What brings you by so early in the morning, did a family member of mine die?”

“I’m searching for a missing girl; name is Erin Sanders.
She’s a student of yours.
The second student of yours that has gone missing within the past two years.
Allow me to be clear.
Turn her over and this will go a lot smoother for you.
You don’t want this to turn into a moment you will live to rue.”

“Sorry Sargent, I have no idea where she could be.”

“I know she came here after school hours last night to get extra help from you.
Her best friend provided us with that clue.
She also told us that Erin was in love with you and was coming over here to sleep with you.
Since you have a thing for young girls, I’m sure she was an excellent *****.
Is she still sleeping in your bed right now?”

“Sorry Sargent but Erin isn’t here.
I will admit that I had her scheduled for some extra help last night but she never showed.
She’s my best student and I was skeptical that she actually needed help,
so, I’m not surprised to hear that she told her friend she was going to try to sleep with me,
but she must have gotten cold feet because she never showed.
Sorry I couldn’t be more help; I really do hope you find her and she’s ok.”

“We got a call from your neighbor as well who told us he saw a young girl stop over at your house last night around six.
Now Chris, your starting to look like you’re about to **** bricks.
He told us he saw the girl, who matched Erin’s description, come over dressed “provocative” and then disappear inside your house.
He told us she never came back out as of this morning.”

“Well he must be mistaken.
If she was here, wouldn’t her care still be parked here?”

“Your neighbor told us that late last night he saw a man that resembled you come out of the house and move the car the girl was driving to an unknown location.
I know she’s here Chris, so stop the charade.
If you allow me in your house, we can sort this whole thing out and it will go a lot easier for you.
It’s time for you to confess to your wrong doings, it’s long overdue.”

“You know I had nothing to do with that girls’ disappearance and was proven innocent of any wrong doing.
Keep bullying me and harassing me I might just have to contemplate suing.”

“Well if this is just some big misunderstanding, why don’t you let me in and we can sort it out quick.”

“You need a warrant to come into this house, Sargent.”

“I will have a warrant in a few minutes so don’t get to comfy Chris.
Don’t think about fleeing either, I have officers stationed all around your house in case you or the girl try anything.”

“See you soon Sargent.”

My eyes open to the sound of two men talking.
I originally heard knocking.
It sounds like the police are here looking for me,
but I’m nowhere near being freed.
The police won’t find this room if they search the house.
There’s no hope, I’m a prisoner here.
A *** slave for Chris to **** and reproduce with.
That book case should be considered a monolith
because no one is moving it to find us girls be tortured back here.
All hope is truly gone.

Tears fall from my eyes just as Chris smiles and closes the front door on the Sargent knowing even with the warrant they won’t find what they are looking for.

I’m sporting this new lipstick
it won’t fade, smudge or smear
I’ll be lucky if it wears off this year.

I’ve got this new eyeliner that’s like
a luxurious, glittering, penciled tattoo
Leong asked, “How do you get it off you?”

I unpacked these chemical wonders
to see if they’ve lost their luster
by being neglected since last summer.
    
When you study too much, you feel pent-up,
so my compadres and I chose to get dolled-up,
rolling-up to dinner, like beauty queens on parade,
and not just sophomore scrubs trying to make the grade.

Ghost Relics**

Downtown,
where Main intersects Main
you'll see the last living tissue
of a breathing bazaar.
They weighed down her chest with bricks and girders.
It's a wonder she breathes at all.
-
Wander too far in any direction
and you're sure to see the husks
of once proud and bustling businesses.
Abandoned sanctums of mortar and majesty.
Scars of the Midwest etched as constants in our mind.
Dusty and silent since the cradle.
-
The theaters are bedeviled with dolled up haunts
who just wandered over from Greenwood to catch the matinee.
Management still leaves the lights on for kicks after hours
to throw off their sleep schedules while they wait for the feature to start.
Up all night, sleep all day; they read by neon and slumber under Sol.
Here I am, left lounging in The Devil's Chair. Crickets keep quavering.
-
Underneath the Franklin Street overpass sleeps a family bound by naught.
They watch in dawn's light as the few pedestrian that traverse Cerro Gordo
advert their eyes as some sort of silent symbol of respect for their situation.
It's as if the very stare of a privileged man could drain 'til depleted.
They never ask for anything, they just wade it out and listen to
the cars overhead, the train-clock's trumpet, and the heartbeats in between.
-
Leaks are patched, potholes filled, and yet
we're still loosing blood; becoming beguiled.
So many stray cats in the civilian savanna,
aimlessly seeking names and second chances.
"This premises is under police video surveillance" -
hanging like ornaments from streetlamp poles.
-
Guarding the gates
of a dwindling dominion,
as the armies of Union and Grand
wait in their camps
for the rust to take hold
of her iron veins.

“You’re single because you’re single. It’s not because you texted too much or too little or waited 33 minutes to respond because he took 23. It’s not because you met up with your ex that night at 5 a.m. that no one knows about, or because you kissed another boy after a date with a loser.
You’re not single because you spit food on that date or tripped coming out the the movie theatre. You’re not single because you hurt your first boyfriend really badly when you were 15 or because you have yet, to this day, to apologize. It’s not because you were secretly jealous when your friend got a boyfriend or that a guy you dated for two months now has a really cute girlfriend and looks really happy. And you’re happy for him. But still ill that he found someone before you.

You’re not single because you slept with your ex boyfriend. You’re not single because half the world found out when you didn’t even want to remember it yourself. You’re not single because you think the guy your friend wants to hook you up with is ugly or not tall enough. It’s not because you’re not willing to put up with someone who doesn’t brush their teeth on a regular basis.

You’re not single because your standards are too high. Good for you for having standards. It’s not because you didn’t like that really, really good guy who wanted to take you on a date and you just weren’t feeling it. And it’s not because you like to wear pajama pants as soon as you get home and wash all the makeup off your face. You’re not single because you didn’t learn enough from the past or would rather chill on a Friday night with your blanket and a cold beer than shower, get ready, and go out. You’re not single because something is wrong with you.

You are single because you are single. It’s really as simple as that. You haven’t made the connection with another heart yet. You can get dolled up, dress cute, cut your hair, dye your hair, tweeze your eyebrows, put on lipstick and you may still. be. single. You can go out to a bar hoping to meet the love of your life and not find a **** one in the place attractive. And it’s going to remain that way until it’s time for you to find one. Stop hoping for it. Start living the life that you do have instead of wishing for things that you don’t have. There will come a time you’ll meet a boy and you’ll have to give up some of this single freedom you currently have. Start being more thankful. Start doing that now.”

Lonely there is a female, just a small girl in all punctuality
and she sits upon the curb of a lovely looking marble paved road
Only the road is no longer marble, it is dusted with the fragments of ash
from the cigarettes she puffs away at, every day until her lungs constrict
The boa made of exaggerated smoke always is pulling upon her air passages
never wanting to let her esophagus be cooled by crisp and clean air
Her feet are bare, frozen and bleeding, leaving drops of blood behind
trails from where she's once been, and where the girls' feet will travel
Beaten and bruised, thrown and spat out, she was the trash of society and its remains
but in all actuality, society was the men she slept with, and she, only wanting cover of the rain at night
Forced into what they called sensuality, but the young girl closes off her emotions and senses
and wished for a home to call her own, but never feeling the want in her heart enough to stay
This girls clothing is ragged, shredded and torn, wrinkled from the nights she's spent
in a strangers arms, she takes danger by the horn, receives herself a death call instead
A disease has been forming, and it grows in magnitude with each passing strangers call
thus the girl has fallen upon her knees, and the disease still finds a way to pass along its young
The female has tried to quit, with her way of life, but the bills keep a'coming, and she is still in need
the hunger inside her drives her raving mad, it is slightly ludicrous, this lunatic she's become
To feed upon a strangers flesh, to conquer her unrighteous lusting and her want
this is the girl that we see who is foolish in her ways, as she folds her hands to her breast
Hands are paled and over worked, dry and calloused never have a bout of rest
so trustful in their own ways, hardy they work like crusted placid tools
Still upon the paved road she sits, crunching her bones into a ball
her skin is increasingly thin, no wonder she gasps with pain for every movement she makes
This young girl, is young enough to let the tears cascade over her heavily dolled up face
her cosmetic encrusted eyes run, covering her make-up splashed face even more
The grime and dirt smudged upon her face from being splashed by non-helping passer byes
and her mouth is made up of a slashed and jagged pair of lips, from lipstick she put on
Smears her great complexion , with the fiery burn of stained glass that was meant for cheeks
thinning roses of auburn, painted with a closed precision, soaked with raccoon cosmetics
Fearfully she sits, silent as water, her fluid running out as if the air around
whips her inside, and eats her on the outside, it begun by freezing her skeleton over
For she was always their (as in men)collected victim and she begun to wonder why
her fellow human's never had believed her she saw through her crystal tears
That doll faced men and doll faced women, had a secret they kept
they only wanted to play God with the clown she had become

Every morning I greet the sun smelling like jasmine and spice
the rays roll through my window
bend nicely and tip their hats like good gentlemen
Only to figure out that I am a man

Surprised and Bent waves stiffen up in their stride
as they switch between reaching down to kiss my hand
something they subconsciously planned to do
ever since that smell of sensual perfume heated up
even the hottest, and the coolest
made them too woozy to stand
to giving an improvised hand shake
A clumsy dance between the fingertips of the prejudged
And the disappointed
As if the swirls in their palms anointed my unexpected presence
Uncomfortably appealing

Their mothers told them not to place judgment on a first impression
that they made, drowned in a sensual stupor
Of pretty scents distributed into the atmosphere
but then my personality
my mannerisms
And the way I walk and talk
WAFTED into their nostrils
like some woman dolled up before a date
with no one
to sit alone and wait
for some wreck of a man to pay a visit
It’s a chauvinistic *******
This scent is
Until they see that this jaw line
Is what it clings to
their nostrils and their eyes
seem to not agree
on what is
me

I tell you I wake up smelling like jasmine and spices
like a woman who spent all night in sin
taking pleasure from her vices
With sweet smelling oils contained in florally adorned vials,
and i waft into every man and woman’s nostrils

and eyes say man
but noses always seem to quarrel with eyes
Because to nostrils sensory surprise
It smells woman so it seems
the only logical compromise must be something in between
these sensory organs so caught up in stereotypes
Eyes bicker with ears and noses
And fingertips
Quick judgments followed by
Categories
trying to
make the puzzle piece
make sense Or
make do with what
makes people feel at ease
To make the absolutely effeminate straight male
Fit
With all the other puzzle pieces

It seems I’m a scratch and sniff
Where you scratch the picture of cinnamon
And smell jasmine
So was I packaged wrong?
No I was manufactured just right
The smell was an add-on
That was added one night
where i spent an entire evening in love
with someone I lost the next day
and in our own way
I slaved her body with oils
That smelt of jasmine and spice
And I wasn’t ashamed of it
they caressed us
and gave every motion an unstoppable velocity
every situation was slippery
and things that shouldn’t have been
almost came to be

as we slept the oils clocked out
and slid down our still interlocked bodies and into the bedspread
where it opened up its homestead
buried its dead, started families and grew in number
until the population of the smell was too strong
too strong and the one I shared the smell with
was gone

but i hold that night fondly
i hold it above my head in all its glory
and when i am judged by my scent and
questioned of my sexuality
i just tell them
I am being the scent i smelled when i discovered my masculinity
and that smell sank into my bed sheets
As an non-removable reminder
Of days past embracing my own tendencies
And a girl who I waved farewell to
And never gave that part of myself to
i am 100% man until i find the right person
a beautiful sight in the sunlight
and when night falls and i can’t see them at all
i can find even more things i like
to take that from me
and i will give it up gladly
and find what it really means to be truly in-between

I’ve found
no one is in-between because of their scent
There is no in-between except
In between man and woman
Man and man
Woman and woman
a subtle in between that you can only find
When you gaze into another’s eyes
And read three letter words imprinted on their iris
Only written for you
And discover what can really exist between two
So let’s all realize that whoever we are
We all strive to be in-between

even teddy said i got the sickest tricks brah.
like my abilities source from some kinda legendary liquid
                                                                ­                      / praise the lord /
monster energy should sponsor me.
a kickflip over the king’s *** hole
& a halfcab for the looky-loos.
i feel so tall when i climb that heap of asphalt trimmings
& see clear from the water tower to the bluffs.
gimme a good day, any day at the bluffs,
bottlerockets & girly birds.

her body brings a swarm of worms.
decomp,
said the f.b.i. men one by one with tweezers.
not quite the homecoming queen, still
wrapped in plastic.

look up.
see that great mess of wires, nest of powerlines and owl bones?
it crackles and croons its electro-spectral purr
all night and day.

new neck tat &
cody spends his paycheck on a crossbow.
we target practice on a bull skull.
wet cigarettes and turpentine-soaked socks for a good huff
in the dry of the roofline as it dumps.

there’s that little boy in a ghost mask again, tap-dancing
in puddles below the streetlamp,
& oversized shoes.
his grandmoms always be watchin’ from the window.
[whispers] she’s teaching him magic.

lucky unit 19: where our young dead damsel once dolled
herself up, you see
men and headlights would roll thru thrice nightly,
maybe more.
& i remember her punch red lips &
big whicker hat; while she weeded and watered her garden of begonias.

the sheriff’s deputy, hart? hicks? hogan? well he loved her a bunch.
stole her clothes in the middle of the night,
& sat beside the river sobbing into clumped fists
of bra and blouse.
i bought ******* from that guy once or twice.
harold? howard?

guess who showed his face today?
josiah, from unit 08.
since the incident with molly’s beagle, he’s been rarely seen.
took a bee line straight for the mailbox.
a package. a prize. a decoder ring/secret map sweepstakes
to be seen and deciphered.

They say girls like something shiny
And that may very well be true
Bigger is better but I'll take tiny
No matter the size I'll make do

Of course I have my favorites
Or those meant for special occasions
Getting dolled up I want to savor it
Adorning myself prematurely for my sins

Perhaps they get jealous of each other
So maybe I'll take them all out for display
They sparkle perfectly making me stutter
Stroking each longingly before we play

-arriving at eglington west station-

there's the fragrance drifting off
of her shoulders
as she checks her reflection
on smartphone mirror app,
floral pattern matching the
bright of her nails,
the sun shining onto sequined flats
that show no wear.

-glencairn, glencairn station-

there's her youth indicated by
backpack, baseball cap,
and conversation subject matter
discussing video game system merit,
there's the hand me down excitement
of muddy knees and torn jeans,

-arriving at lawrence west station-

each millimetre contributing to grimace,
beard whisker, wrinkle stationed
to the sides of each of his eyes,
weary traveller, seemingly ignoring
everyone with grocery bag
occupying chair like child,

-Yorkdale, Yorkdale station-

we used to weave through these crowds
and people watch together,
and the people would watch us,
young love, so simple,
oblivious to stage,

fingers interlocked, blocking
crowds from passing by,
there was the taste of strawberry
banana smoothie, freshly squeezed,
on your lips, we'd race up
escalators, only to circle
back down, we'd find the nook
of book store, to steal a moment,
you'd ignite, ignoring the clatter
of barrista, starbucks adjacent,

and there would walk by or sit
dolled up princess,
adolescent tomboy,
aging cantankerous senior,

these faces haven't changed
as much as ours have.

-please stand clear of the doors-

He's the dagger
twisted in my gut,
all the pretty words
dolled up with a
smile that is anything
but pure or true.

He's a spicy treat,
when all I'm looking for
is something sweet.

Perhaps it's wrong of
me, to search for love
in eyes that wander so
far I have to make
maps of their journey.

He has me falling
from the tallest crevices
with promises to catch
me with arms that are
already holding another.

He's a lost cause,
a candle blown out,
the stolen kiss that
was never returned.

But I'd bet all my
money on him within
a heartbeat if he said
he felt even a mere
shadow of what I did.

Baby-dolled eyes,
and glamor velvet
encircles
with a cruel femininity;

the darkest pin-up
of your
diamond-dazzled
dreams always takes
it up a notch!

It’s all burlesque
and whispers
when you come into her
world of mirrored
desire that
plays just behind
her lips;

that dances just behind
her rhinestone mask.

The vampiress of
merlot, cigarettes,
and lace
always remembers
her prey;
a black-widow’s
striptease, cold
and calculated.

Again, she delights
in the fact
that she has broken
another man
she invited
in to her ruthless
masquerade.

New England is all dolled up tonight,
With a bottle of wine in hand she's looking to pick a fight, with someone else's lips
The coastline sleeps in the Nantucket sound
Like a spool of thread, you watched as I unwound, picking wildflowers for you from the ground
You once let me look upon the sound inside
your eyes, New England is all dolled up this morning with my favorite face,
Up north I speak in circles, and as I walk the circumference of the sound in your eyes, I always manage to speak around the truth
New England makes me nervous, and I don't say this too often but New England, you look beautiful tonight, but there is no bed light for my blue eyes,
I get carried away from the sound,
I get carried away from the sound

The skyline of New England, is exposing it self below its knees,
And it's beautiful, I wish I could sleep beneath your streets

Forgive me father for I have sinned.
This here is my confession...

Today a man left home,
spent countless hours on the road,
and wound up where he meant to go.
A life of service is what he chose.
A respectable career is what we're told.

But father,
this man of honor,
is out romancing dolled up daughters,
while his girlfriend at home is left to wonder,
if distance really makes the heart grow fonder.
He doesn't worry, he'll always have her.

His back up option, his second choice.
He calls, but not to hear her voice.
She's something to play with, just one of his toys.
Something to brag about back home with his boys.
A good time to be had before he deploys.

They both knew that it wasn't wise,
to sneak her out and pick her up for 2am rides,
all their time spent in-between her thighs,
and so they made a compromise.
He'd have her for dessert, while his girlfriend ate lies.

And this girl, she thought she knew,
the extent to which she was being used,
thought she was just using him too,
but since he's been gone, she's just been confused.
These feelings she has can't be refused,
but now she has nothing left to lose.

She's coming clean, no secrets.
What's done is done, no more regrets.
Has a lot on her conscience she needs to confess.
She's not religious, doesn't believe in that,
but she prays after this,
his girlfriend won't love him any less.
That sailor's about to be in distress.

I'll be at the ball in my tutu and fishnets
While I idolize the girls with the long hair and dresses
The money thrown at them by loving parents
While my outfit is made up of spare change and short tresses
But I'll wear my mohawk high because even though
I look out of place and not as royal as you
I am me and true to my name
While you are just the same ******* dolled up

I've always been wary--
and celebrated my potential
Betrayal
and
Certain
   death(.)     (oh)
At The Juice Joint.

All wet.  (incorrrr
--ect.)

Applesauce. (non


sense.)

All dolled up. Showed off my
       Gams
And Big Jazz
(eyes).

Wanted to get spifflicated with some
Dolls
and
Jellybeans.

...my fella.

?

Didn't have enough clams.

Any of us.

We

   're the new

Lost

      ...generation.

I thought I'd keep the bank open,
but
interest wasn't given
Cash or Check:
didn't really matter.

Might've been
     the
cat

's

meeeeeow.

And
how.

Ahhhhh...

we all had our glad rags on.
the Daddies hit on all sixes.
      Let's get ZOZZLED on some
jag juice,
dewdropper.

Deeeeeewdropper.  ~errrrrrrrr.....
Though giggle juice is more apt

...for me.

Leave the Mrs. Grundys at home...no fire extinguishers allowed.

How ironic.

                You were the extinguisher.

Bring Your Own Knife

      , we said.

It's a Stabbing Party

     , we said.

I didn't want to handcuff you. Didn't want to exchange manacles.
       ("No, I'm no one's Wife, but OHHHHH, I love my Life.")

I percolate.
I percolate.

I percolate.

I'm not your quiff.
...not your sheba...or a vamp.


Just admire my

           chassis

if you will.

    they

all
    do

The engine'll purr
   for you,

~~if you turn the keys just so

Everything was
    Copacetic.

Copacetic...

For a time.

         (get'hotget'hot!)


Caesar's here.

                                       Hussssshhhhhhhh...

...speak


         ~~eeeeeaaaaassssyyyyy.

And then I realized.


  

                                I'm tired of being Caesar



(      .       )

Words, once obedient servants
Now claim suzerainty over ideas.
The age of meaningful verse has yielded
To gobbledygook.

Poetry, a grey mist half-understood
Through which I stumble blindly,
A mirage I chase through the sands...

The wells of creativity run dry.
Neither outpourings of emotion nor tender murmurs;
Mere craftsmanship remains.
Lines dolled up in ****** baubles
Literary ******, soliciting passing readers,
Fireflies, impotent
In the face of the darkness within.

The autumn harvest of verbosity is ripe
For the scythe of the Grim Reaper

We mill around
Just walk and talk
Meet and greet
And "I miss you!"
Hugged each other
for much too long
Overlooking the elephant in the room.
Pictures shared
Hellos, goodbyes
"Oh dear, I love you so!"
We laugh and cry
Avoid closed eyes
And ignore the elephant in the room.
Groups together
Sharing, staring
Forgetting why they came
Push it back
And out of their minds
Just forget the elephant in the room.
The reunion goes
Just well as planned
Cards and flowers
All dolled out
Show your respect
And pay your dues
All because of the elephant in the room.
Walk out in step
A pretty little line
With tissues and people in tow
A reality check
For the comfortable ones
By yours truly, the elephant in the room.
Sick of flowers
Of hugs and sorry,
Don't forget the pity, too
A little reunion
For the ignorant ones
Who are too scared of the elephant in the room.
Come home sick
Empty and shallow
Shaken and rocked to the core
Left too soon
Well- you did, not them
It's just that dead body in the room.

THE FINE cloth of your love might be a fabric of Egypt,
Something Sinbad, the sailor, took away from robbers,
Something a traveler with plenty of money might pick up
And bring home and stick on the walls and say:
"There's a little thing made a hit with me
When I was in Cairo-I think I must see Cairo again some day."
So there are cornice manufacturers, chewing gum kings,
Young Napoleons who corner eggs or corner cheese,
Phenoms looking for more worlds to corner,
And still other phenoms who lard themselves in
And make a killing in steel, copper, permanganese,
And they say to random friends in for a call:
  "Have you had a look at my wife? Here she is.
Haven't I got her dolled up for fair?"
O-ee! the fine cloth of your love might be a fabric of Egypt.

Crashing

into something,

always

Mania like a ******* *****

I am biting my knees

and my head is racing

like a shooting star that nobody wishes on,

and I think I’m going to throw up

and I’ve had a head ache all day

so I got dolled up and reek of smoke, smoke, smoke

and I’ve got this tic where I pick pick pick

at my skin like clockwork

like you hear about **** users doing,

and my grandmother’s neighbor’s **** lab got busted

but that has nothing to do with this.

Can’t tell if I’m sick

or sick of this

felt myself writing my eulogy in my head when I got home,

felt myself running running running

and talking too weird and falling over

and I’m not even drunk

and I’m not even close.

I need to calm down but this mania has me ******* petrified, sick sick sick.

And I know I’m not eating enough and I’m smoking too much and

what I want is my mother, in that summer camp kinda way

where you need somebody to rub your back and coo

“It’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay”

over and over again, letting your sobbing puddle into her lap,

like that time I tried to come out to her

for hours.

In 3rd grade my best friend asked me why my fingers were all sorts of cut up

and I told her, “Oh, you know, farm life” and changed the subject because the sound of the word “picking” makes my body curl up

and two years another girl asked me why my fingertips were purple

and I didn’t tell her it was because I didn’t know how to stop.

I need to run

not away or from something, just run

to catch up with my head

to catch up with my body, shaking shaking on this seat.

This is the one of the worst poems I’ve ever written but I think it’s

probably the most honest

because I am sometimes so scared to be alive,

and so scared to be human.

On an unrelated note, if I tell you I am queer,

I’m not looking for your opinion.

On an unrelated note, last night a girl prayed on her knees for me,

years ago I went to a church where they spoke in tongues over my head as I felt my knees buckle and I cried then, too.

When your only lived experiences are biased with depression, are haunted,

are counting your calories and

praying that something can save you,

and thinking that only you can save yourself, I’m thinking maybe I need something more.

I teach preschoolers almost every week about what it means to be a Christian, what the foundation of the Bible is but

I’m definitely not a Christian, because somewhere along the line, I lost that too.

Maybe I am as arrogant as my first job fired me for being,

maybe I am as ******* human as I’ve always tried to avoid

or something.

I think it is gone now, that stretching thin

that mania

of too much thought racing

train blaring

I’m sick, sick, sick.

There was a girl and she knew when I was upset because I spoke in threes,

in triples,

like I’m begging for that holy trinity,

like I’m shining a flash light at the stars,

calling in Morse code for the night to lift

for the gods to call me up,

like I’m begging for You.

If God knows everything,

does he read this too?

You were always
a bit of backward
but your small, fuzzy grins
came cheap and easy.

We never guessed
they'd change the rules
so fast.

Salvation might have come
in coupon form,
and dolled-up pretty—
some say better than new—
we could have shared
old games, odd romance,
a few more laughs.

But I let that last chance slip,
and now a brick,
you're going gently onto
the back-alley *******
heaped in the middle of the night.

It’s been two decades and I’m still sweating out this fever

My eyes haven’t stopped watering since my family tree fell over,
branch by branch we collapsed into the river,
rushing faster and faster to mutually assured destruction,
no one is getting out alive here

No one is getting out alive here in this world,
so we might as well get it while the going is going because one day the going is going to stop and we’ll be left holding on to as much as we can,
We’ll feel so sorry for ourselves then

I’ve walked with snakes on my shoulders for as long as I can remember,
All my hearing has amounted to hisses,
and all of my bones have broken to bend and expand to hold all of the feelings I’ve eaten

Made love with the ****** and prayed to every angel I’ve seen in my paralysis,
In my dreams I see flowers,
Red like blood,
but clean like a mended heart,
Slowly but surely I’ll likely tear myself apart

But I like it like this,
It gives me a reason to wonder,
and wander,
So I’ll continue to wonder,
and wander

We all just drink to get drunk,
We’re all just ghosts without a house to haunt,
I’ve been feeling this sickness creep up into my throat,
and it’s been drying to get out, and I think I’ll let it

I’m still learning what falling in love feels like,
Still coming to grips with realities that don’t involve bruised eyelids and unforgivable I told you so’s,
Sometimes it feels like I’m coming to the end of my rope but then it frays all over again and I’m stuck trying to wind it back up,
How selfish to think I can fix something that’s too broken

Cut to my grandmother getting dolled up for her closeup because the church taught her how to become her own messiah, now she doesn’t know how to love the right way,
I’m starting to think that none of us do

I’m starting to run with the wolves,
The moon speaks in tongues to me,
I keep asking her to take me back where I belong,
Every painting hanging in my room is blank,
Blank and powerful,
but afraid,
I’m starting to think we all are

I’ve been sweating everything out,
It’s taking longer than I want it to

I just hope that by the time I’m laying on my deathbed,
I’ll be as dry as this all bled me

I think I found myself lost, maybe.
You're just a girl...yes a lady.
You just were around me and
I felt the hairs stand on end.
Heart beating quickly.

I the pretty dolled up one,
I lost all my self control
I said I loved you and...

Why? You for such a simple cute girl, a lady,
"Not in blue-dressed in pink,"
Could have such huge boyish brown eyes,
Yours was short raven hair, "or like a wildcat" I think,
It grows now full all around your sweater.
I am of the impression that I could fall
Into them all, and be swept away a feather.

Yes I fell, I was "mad idiot" and I lost,
Just to a simple short girl,
With colorful beads in lace,
You could hold me in your embrace,
So much where my heart belongs.
And one like lightning could strike me,
Just you...being so very wild...so strong...

The footprint of this place
is a freshly razored face.

Mother Earth’s been ‘beautified.’
trees, grass, roots, shrubs,
stubble shaved from the chin,

neck and face smooth.
Underneath this house.

The whiskers have been shaved
        she’s dolled up
But in gruff’s stead
        there’s a wart on her face
A fossilized, mortared blackhead.

Fingers locked
     in female hands
a riddle
   like legs     free of clothes
   crumpled jumpers
     in a corner
resembling a salad
of what-the-hell-went-on
last night   greeny-reds.

   Dolled up
bees' knees
     next time
not a person to     impress
or   dazzle   with a fedora
   top-shelf aftershave
charcoal-black shoes
gobbling     this week's wages.

Miss your     mouth
                              completely
see if you   tick
the thirty-one boxes
     know nail polish
     birthdays
better than second-hand
lips   and teeth   and tongues
   and lips
stash wit in a drawer
humour   under the bed.

Spot the odd   one   out
like finding a disease
     in a bloodstream
always observe
     an   owl   in the room
   watch others hurl feelings
I miss   you's   about
gobbledygook
resort to stories
     only your pillow knows
they want the     fire
not a                           lonely snowman.