The Lovely People
They settle where the drool market is darker, deeper
than the scent of burnt wax, the skin form fit, whittle
to suit the urban Dita Von Tesse, a prior right,
or chameleon’s claim to change color.
They are practically invisible, almost always
under the thread. They are both the prey and predator,
swimming for entitlement, airbrushed of fashionable.
The lovely people travel like siphons talk
about the weather, above clouded sellout homes.
From the planes, the world returns to structures:
boys with Fibonacci pocket watches, pretty girls
with spatulas at home, duplicated,
duplicate to proper and the time to dirty in bed.
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