Prick

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171 words
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susansnow
susansnow
42 Followers

White men's blues. I have been forgiven. Last night would have been nice. I get him what he wants and then he turns it away. I just want to be even. For him to feel some shame. I will never be able to face my father again. I thought he was. His face fast against porcelain and quick to the floor. This bitch got the blues. In that book behind bars mouths were stuffed deep and full of prick and silence and warm. I never keep jokers in my decks. I feel ugly. I lost him in Ypsilanti next door to the big dick. I had never felt such joy. You beautiful crazed thing. It is a curse. Nothing is sacred so I'm stuck with the plague. I remember Mexico and the silver and the man in a yellow shirt and cargo pants telling me in broken English about nothing I can remember but thinks maybe I should have jotted some of it down. I can't seem to settle my feet.

susansnow
susansnow
42 Followers
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AngelineAngelinealmost 11 years ago
This is really good

It's disjointed and abrupt which works well with the subject. The narrator's shock and anger are all but palpable and the whole thing comes off sounding like she has just been punched in the gut. I'll look to read more from you.

SweetOblivionSweetOblivionalmost 11 years ago
I love this disjointed staccato prose poem

Hard, cynical and earthy - niiiice! S.O.

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