NAKED DEMO

NAKED DEMO

 
Underground, what is there to look at: / dirt, cracks, lechers? // The only colors / pop like a pimp's suspenders / from salivating posters.
Waiting for the L: / tallboys, pocket knives. // Like coroners, / we outline / poster-children, / orphan them.
My last pair of roommates watched so many French movies online / that the popups on my browser learned French. // The internet became a foreign avenue lined with inscrutable sandwich boards. // I searched every red-lit site with touristic voyeurism, / seeing only whatever I came to see
A cobbled london alley, / a dozing cart of books, / ten pounds of poetry. // Hidden like termite tracks / inside the mâché binding: / classifieds, two centuries late.
My father and I play a game when we watch TV. / We guess whom the network thinks we are. // Sometimes we are alcoholic bachelors / trying to quit smoking. // Most of the time, / we are professional, menstruating mothers.
 
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CONFLUENCE