Thursday, November 04, 2004
At the Mykonos
As globules of foundation pullulated
on a wet, tanned back,
a quiet mountain-range of sweat quivered
around the poorly-lit ballroom.
Its carrier was extrapolated
between strobe ignitions
like an earthquaking Atlas meticulously
avoiding splinters
here in the Mykonos. A cyclic mimesis
to last year's video-taped weddings
when wearing
her precipitating marble-skeined drape,
a plumage of fifty-dollar bills had been bluetacked
onto her
like clashing interpretations
on a speculative text. But later
pared to the root, in a diamantina corset,
her candelabra stomach orbited
her fish-net legs, and her denture
rose like a new-moon into the bazooki planetarium
of water-hose lights and mirror tiles.
// posted by George Manka @ 2:02 PM 
