Thursday, November 04, 2004

At the Mykonos

As globules of foundation
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.

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