Human Shells

Cubist woman smiling
Russian with brown curls
Like tied rope knots
Her nose over an eyeball
Half of her lip
Next to an ear
Triangular chin
Rotating her eyeballs
At the curious children
Who study her distorted face

Biker gal
Jet black hair
A tattoo of a naked woman
With devil horns
That moves across her hips
Like a rotating planet
Eight pink arms
Bleed from her back
Forever expanding
Acrylic nails
Yanking pole lines
Gathering for something
She smirks
Knowing the army of extensions
Are under her totalitarian domain

Man in spots
Black and white bundle
Decoded on his skin
Like a Dalmatian
Cruella Devil’s fetish
His yellow eyes
Illuminating
As if his skull is a
Lighten Jack o Lantern
He cackles his heels
And sings “New York, New York”
Taps after each accomplished line

Boy in a straw hat
Wool trousers
Barefoot
With a pair of gills
His spit hits the country grass
Burning it with acidic saliva
He swims in the bayou
And slurps tad pools for lunch
Hisses at swamp flies
“Dirty dirty dirty!”
The critter boy shouts
He enjoys the cleanest of men
And smiles at
Mormons who wear neck ties

Human skin
Frosted
Pale
Emerald icicles
Delicately cover her breasts
She exhales a drag of frost
With each breath
She tries to sip red wine
But it freezes at the
Tongue’s touch
She hugs a gentleman
And he becomes her
New icicle
With each spit
Is a new iced marble

The poet savagely writes
And stares
A young city man
With three non-blinking eyes
That roll and roll
No nose
No mouth
But three brains
And a elephant tusk
He taps his claws
At the diner counter
Eager to annotate the
Super Beings

The Poet never forgets
That human anatomy is
Not the reality
He ignores skin and teeth
Hunts for power
Gathers for dreams that consume
A soul’s everyday life
The fears that limit the Super Beings
And the impulses that dictate
The movements of human flesh

Caged bodies
Skin that discerns the ugly
Skin that hides the beauty
Skin that covers the souls

The Poet knows we are super beings
Burrowing
In human shells

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