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November 10, 2005
The Whore
I've often wondered as I sit alone in hotel rooms
What brings me to this tired place of wanting
Of Denny's sandwich bags and tiny teeny rubber wombs
Of crumbled cake and dreams of peppered planting
A book of begging bodies paper thin and gently mocking
Arouse a notion to expense an evening dollar dance
Around a sink a rancid stain a randy reload rocking
Announce an ache I never asked inside my dampened pants
Several months ago after reading somebody's poetry somewhere (and eating at Denny's), the notion arose to try some complicated rhythms. This came out in a burble and I thought it was pretty good, but I haven't been able to recapture the mood. It was to be about an encounter with a whore, in a bunch of stanzas. I wanted to capture, Sin City style, some wretched business traveler who travels way way down the wrong path. It has been sitting in draft too long...so here it is.
Posted by mbowen at November 10, 2005 03:26 PM
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Comments
buttsex!
Posted by: e at November 28, 2005 04:28 AM