Sunday, November 9, 2014

ZERO, HERO, AND SS

ZERO LOVES HERO
She waits in a cement blockhouse,
Waits with one signal candle
Lit in an open window.
She has five gallons of gasoline,
A thousand packs of matches,
Ten lighters, and
She's beautiful.
Perfect, really.

She spies the shape of a man
Approaching in deep dusk,
Blows out the candle,
Sets aside oleo-smeared crackers,
And watches.
She opens the lid of the control-panel.
Studies her options.
And waits.

At a hundred yards the man stops,
Shines a flashlight in his face.
Two minutes later,
He falls into the woman's arms,
Under a starless sky,
Two sentries in love,
Their kisses like prayers
That this war will never stop.

SPORTY SPICE EXACTS HER POUND OF FLESH!
Stalkers and serial killers are easy prey for this S.S./U.S., mystery men and baby dolls and punks and punk rockers all are dispatched with disarming alacrity, the cute, the lovable, none of you are America's Favorite Pastime (what is? Swinging baseball bats at random skulls?) My loveliness I wear like a death mask and for religion I worship a corpse on a cross.

I am Sporty Spice. I fade and glow.

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