Saturday, October 1, 2011

Blogger Chick

Her words slide
                 across the page
                                 like a lap dance
                      and grind against
     the very base of you.
She writes
       like a runaway
                without options;
                            uses what God gave
             and what men take.
She digs on the sweat
                        and the panting
                                    and the smoke
                                                and the rush of blood
                                                                       to the head
                                                      from the whiskey
                         she pours down your throat,
         and you open wide.
She knows
        she's an addiction
                            and winks
                                   at the weakness
                                                        of you,
                             reduces you to words
                 you read over
  and over again.



Burning Word - October 2011
Reprinted in The Houseboat (Featured poet No. 3).

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