Plunderotica

through dark streets model
took off
kimono one hand
on parasol

go on

aching still trembling glitter of world
mummy swatched ghost
of Baudelaire
wind dying now
last of violence

do you want it, do you want it
dying eye fragment
spacious dreams of stone
toppling sluggish edifices studded
with gems coagulated with human
sperm

dipped finger in whiskey touched nipples
tips hard and red
settled regions wild
called to rise

murky light
fumbling fingers
scum on tongue
drop in eye
drink in pottle
itch in palm
gush of fundament fire
in gorge tickle
of tail

hullabaloo

pieced together by Amanda Earl.
My text comes from three sources: Henry Miller's Tropic of Cancer, Anais Nin's Little Birds and Emily Dickinson's Selected Poems.