suasage beauties

Each one of us is prematurely elder-ed
Before the rich probe of the Alien’s shank

Child breath hangs meat hooks of mortality
Through the air, rich like cake

And shoulders strapped up
In slapped hollows, midnight to the ground

In shadows like slippery grooves
We, except for the aged insertions, wish

Would shelter us in moist enclaves,
Clavicle nights and limousine mists

On the dreams that shape up on
The monitor in the Alien lounge

Of experiments and cocktails and dream
Shears. Look, we’re all wearing baby grins.






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