the slum princess


I struck a tattoo on your ass
- how the hell was I supposed to know
you were a Nazi?
(in fact
a brownish retort snatched from
a tender garlic-stewed movie)

he kept riding and after a strategy
game saw her off to the entrance
meanwhile
the Nephew from Fãurei had stolen
a BMW like a spit hanging on a kick-boxer
of course
the benches will crawl in the backyard
under a cancerous oak tree
and
damn with the medicine bag
my sex works also with meal-tickets

better I’d box your ears with a metaphor
so that…like a Muslim pray
believe me
your beauty horribly stinks
of quick lime and tetracycline
DO YOU DANCE?