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Back You are here: Home Stories Words for the People Poetry My Whore's Heart
Sunday, 23 September 2012 18:48

My Whore's Heart

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hunger-fucked and angry,
my whore devours
tubes of raging ruby red
lipstick to make her insides
match the outsides of her pumps

scuffed soles worn
thin like she got nothing,
not a damn dime
zero nickels zero pennies zero
excuses for leaving babies
smeared on cracked out these sidewalks,
drowning in this acid rain pour
broken ribs, breaking chests
bloating, heaving, screaming, crying,
“o lord what corner did my whore mama tramp off into this time?”
“why she so dead and danced fancied face down on broken bottles?”
damn dimes drop
hard on dark ground
my whore can’t see
she is the butt of my cigarette jokes
with ragged holes in her torn panties
send her whore hands packing
south to pick pockmarks,
scab her strained whore knees
on the snarled teeth of slobby dogs,
chase her into stains
that are hers and not
hers are fully-formed abortion bruises,
bones of wire hanging on raw memories
of back-alley abuses
where not a fucking dime gets laid
this red will play out
like junk dollar slots and scratch-offs
this red will pay out
in a curb stomp,
a curb stomp
on her stupid whore
fuck of a heart
left retching always
in the gutter for more

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Last modified on Sunday, 23 September 2012 21:30
Alissa M. Fehlbaum

Alissa M. Fehlbaum is working on her MFA at the University of Colorado at Boulder, where she also teaches creative writing. She was raised in Mabank, Texas, and received her BA from the University of North Texas.

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