I’m getting older too

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Blanche Hudson on the beach
desecrating raw, sculptural sex

Her crow’s voice piercing the moans
that are urgent and limpid &

volé par la langue de combats

Punctum: her appalling ruins,

And brazen choice of swimwear; her
disregard for the slip slide and

Fast dissolving snake-coils, the coldness of the cold sand in

Hot pants and a chiseled profile dismissing you coldly

Since disgust follows ardour:

Sand in your cunt, sand somehow all over your lonely bed

As though you are an abused cat forced to sleep in its own piss

Blanche, deformed daughter of Blanche the Immaculate Sister of Ruin

Dances like a swan, evading the butterfly net

Evading possession and classification,

Blanche, the reproduction, who until
this moment has hated magic—

Ici, ce est votre mouchard cuits!

(omahksikanaisskiinaa)

Blackfoot Blanche walks the line, certain that

Her imminent peril will be swift and painless

Unlike B+D’s, whose

Scum-filled, wave-racked, fuck will become the standard by which they

Gauge the rest of their lives

Only to find their lives wanting yet still unwilling to

Float on the beach in the cloak of madness that is

; that is,

Beauty force-fed through the senses until fattened into a creamy paste

That is, ; that is,

The confession that resides in the visual argument between the lovers

And the mad woman

That the grotesque, born of innocence and illusion, is weightier, sweeter, even

And superior to the couple whose ardor, if admirable, can’t dance like Blanche

In and out of illness, and above—

Squawking white queen!

  • Could I read this twice? No…more than thrice.

    • lynncrosbie

      What is four times? Quice? Thank you!!! X

  • Dreamboat

    Fine finery of the finest.

    • lynncrosbie

      You are a dreamboat. Xo

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