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1993 postage stamp: an ode to dying women [POEM]

Dec. 9, 2017
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Suburban devil likes to spit into the mouths
Of women who wear engagement rings on
Every finger. Jesus is dead, and the devil rents out his pastel pink contemporary home to those with misplaced gentleness on rubber thighs stuck to ribbed stockings.
You can feel him stain their pouty lips--their cosmos before bible study on Tuesdays. There is no more communion or
sacrifice. There is the burning of wood. 

He frames pictures of women with smudged vodka stains on their sweater sleeves that drip down to red ballet flats. Lavender fluid replaces the whites of their eye’s—28.5” hips tight in the skirts. Six languages to know but none of them define frame right. These ladies line coffins with a sideways crack to let the light in on the corpse. A graverobber’s garden full of glitter metastasizing over waists. Red diamond nail polish brushed onto mourning cement hands. Their thighs spilling into golden lampshades. And people say religion
Is a dying breed.