Slippage, by JKD

After Amanda Deutch's "Flask", "Terminanl Inferno" by Amy Hollowell, & Sean Standish's"The Cull".

I am in a dangerous mood at the end of the rink, my
undercover PI coat giving me away, bungalow afire
right now your pink flamingo drink spying the laser
sight you down the red want all I do is monsters
American or otherwise, to walk any weather, wake in
underflows of, stinging, underbreath rays about
love and wind, flings and sunken sirocco slabs.
There is the sound of treasure, a cold clank in the night
creak, creep along the plank to walk Tuesday pull
your hair back before, so easily, I fall into you.
Grown and dying, groan and… the coatflap open, the
exposure in love with, bleary-eyed, sub-Saharan, over
the corralled reefs or ears, Earth, around your pinkie
I call you a cab, every name but the one from Brooklyn.
Naked, you take the 4 train, crawl out at 16th street like
a performance piece before coughing up the number. Torture
never felt this exquisite in tights, the mighty slip-down-the
groined packet I will come back towards, lighting a pipe,
a cigarette for the dame. Your spilt daiquiri stains his coat, it
could be just a sign, just a code to signal but for how
everything is every gold, round a step back, aquatic urban grey.
The long end of the stick? On fire. Heard any good voices?
A pixie leans right along the avenues. I catch it on sepia film,
cross your statements, gaze with a gaggle of good ol boys at
blogged photos of thigh-high stockings in a meat locker, eat
salamanders. Could we shuffle the deck, try again. A hook
for a hand is not as cliché as the classic fishnet digging
into the edge of heels. A marcel wave in the blonde silk with a dark
line. Ash, lava. Rock deep between to sea and this bar’s a dive.
Asked, will be left in time? Left in ruins? A barometric shift
glints or gather round, folks. This babe’s a doosie, but whodunit
really? I step out onto the plank. I might push, I might go under.