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The icepick prods and
its icy condensed dew
Dripped drips will drip

The muscles twitch under
Their thin daisy cover.
Powerful ratcheting like
Currents over wire

The insouciant host
Hums the song she
Heard vaguely tumbling
Down from her neighbor's flat.

It reminds her to check the
Mail. The fabric stays and
She shrugs to loosen it's
Tug and the stairs pass
Under heavy hips and
Round thighs

She whistles now, remembering
Night, and squints against day.

Her stockings softly
Zip Zip Zip
The ground moves under
The sweaty
Midsummer jumper

The humid rush
Collapses in its pale

Fuck pop culture
And pop stars and
All its popcorn hate
Mail -- lets take a
Swing at our deep dark
Bullshitting TV generation

work to make the
Sacred trendy and tramp
All over it.

I hover and the ballast
Is released into the
Spheres and ionizes.

©1995 Chris Abraham