EVERY DOOR HAS A HOLE IN IT’S MOUTH

Vera was spun out with rum-trucks of Jamaican carafes on a candy flip loop-
that made her hugs random and sloppy, and her candor; a typhoon of blips and Kanji Banalities, like skipping stones in a sea of startled Bouncers at the Very Best Clubs that Vera “ Wanged “ like a drunken Socialite;
With an Agenda… Inexplicable.

Wiping Out in a Penthouse
With a Marmalade
Fountain

For a Burmese
Tigress.

But every door has a hole in it’s mouth
that ain’t never seen a dentist
without a key...
unless, too numb to seek-
with 3rd degree burns
churning signals
with a 5th of Scotch…
blotting out the Rhetoric
of Healing…

In a Hard bar
for a Lost
Heart.

Not a lost Art.