Feel The Love Out There On The Ice

all the girls i know are dyin’
of love and lack thereof
or excess of for lips that twitch
at the end of a runway are
the same lips that switch

codes for the benefit of men
the kinds of which we’ve seen
many times before but not this
time at the end of a runway
with all the spotlights shattering in unison

‘nothin prêt-à-porter about life
at the office of hearts, dearie One,’
exclaimed la diavola, her petticoat of
simple flaming reds the butt
of jokes around the cubicles of section 01. wu-uuu-u.


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