Jaws scraped by rigid wool.  Bosoms wink,
innocence a cover in plush fleece.
This blazer will straighten me out,
keep the femininity from foaming over.
Non-redundant silk gazar.  Sooty florals.

Not enough wine or caffeine in the world
to face:  the current sobriety. 
Your last sobriety.
Designer vaginas.
Modernism, as Pound knew it.
A modernized 1980s puffball skirt.

Sidewalked catwalks built like dog runs.
Use the word human to describe the collection,
while carnivorous nocturnal belted felted
blade-toothed ghost slugs
dance their ka-ching ka-ching. 
I know who you are.  Relax darling
you say, and then there’s the big So What?

And at the world’s cash register, each second counts.

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