MUSIC & THE SAVAGE BREAST:
Silver trainers at the bottom of her midnight suit,
greeting skinny boys in black come grazing, fishing for
messages of love, brain-dead fingers. Runs hers through
her hair, thinks no one is looking, china doll eyes.
Asks for my number, automatic phrases from her mouth.
She’s a sleek black car, gliding between breakfast tables,
a soft-top shark, tiny hands.