midas touch

I feel like I was bitten by a prostitute, a rust colored prosthetic limb razing my dead skin. Old golden holes and window eyes for window dummies, all neatly dressed ebony mannequins along a sidewalk of chewing gum.

Squared apartment complex, a labyrinth of skinny-fat whores, unsophisticated money and coin. Gaze and wasted stems, sporadic discarded wrappers, small delicate frames of plastique human-explosives, candy and sugar coated arteries under the robes and veils of clothes and chemical smells.

Traffic-Legionary's and the terse stampede of caramel gluts for the gluttons, the oil thieves and starving horrors behind the dumpster. A black deep onyx cigar box, unbelievable smooth texture, the slender curve and ripple of magnetic, poetic skin, brutal teeth marks, demons, a bludgeoned Afghan slick with rain, sickly story birds and blue bruises under her eyes.