Plaster cast around my soul
by no means recent
the lounge lizards laugh
they soak up the amber
at the gentlemen’s club
All the heads of dodo birds
in no particular order
the wild feathered hats
block the sun of our
blank white walls
Celebrate, exacerbate;
lift the cold bottles
to bubbles of steel
can you dance among
them can you see the
tight rotation of plump
posteriors
When the party is over
who will take you home
this ain’t no millinery town
no pretend-adolescents
in the streets;
You brought a cold steel
bridge to your heart and
dared me to cross it;
I am left standing on
the grey-black hills,
staring down at what
used to be a promise
What is now your face
in the mirror of a dirty
river, your suicide lipstick
Steven Stone
Steven Stone has been writing poetry for fifty years. He has experimented with many forms and has published in various journals.