seed of pulp

melodies melt through the creamy walls

the night hot

the asphalt angry almost boiling

the sizzle of her heel

i can hear it

she comes near

the steps bend soft like wax

up she floats

i can almost see her

dressed in spicy orange

moist with musks

muffled stomps rushed then slowed

he stops

i can’t hear the locks

but i know he’s turning them

like a perky breast

almost rolling the knob

on the tips of his fingers

that smell like Cuban cigar

Hollywood is burning tonight

we sweat wilt run into our mattress

it doesn’t matter

the chords are taught

the hydras groan at him

from her fake jeweled throat

he has to convince a beautiful beast

that if she stays for a few hours

he can be more of a man

than he is now

bottles cheap dusty and old

like his hands

her purse sags from cheap makeup

and the volume of her in between tears

Hollywood has burned before and yet it rises

nothing novel in any of our eyes

now a cricket here

a dog bark farther

a few clicks on my type writer

the sun is coming up

i too swig from my dusty vials

14 thoughts on “seed of pulp

  1. Pingback: Sunday Best: burning – FREE VERSE REVOLUTION

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