July 2005 / Volume Six / Issue Four
Sean Kilpatrick
The Loversí Trough

I lose the room in another pocket.
She is coddled by scoundrels in tandem.
I twist the stilts into an open belly. My own.
Itís Friday afternoon. The patrons clap.
I applaud to keep them happy, but puke wood.
This causes me to fall over. I step
out of my mouth with flowers.
She exposes her breasts. My job here
is done.
RETURN to July 2005