A Pinwheel of Beautiful PeopleSober as a bone but with enough popcorn down her gullet she says, buoyant and invisible, I'm gonna flash 'em, at the top of the toppest ![]() I'm gonna do it. No amount of rubbernecking can reach that high up the Ferris wheel, no matter how many billows of tits waiting to be unfurled ![]() on the wind as her friends goad her on, cloistered in the cherry-chromed box as they rock around like cockatoos shaking off their down winter ![]() pea coats. So I trace their car while it bobbles as seductive as sloped metal could be, the knobs and bolted seams sashaying towards my empty ![]() hands until the girls' caddy peaks, and a great whoosh rises from the fairgrounds as she unleashes her phantom tits on the world ![]() like a libretto to hand lotion and scrambled Cinemax, shadow plays taken to dark bedrooms and rewound until right hands go raw and only ![]() the mess is left to remember, and when my blue bucket reaches the top of the wheel the girls have bled into the crowd they drew, leaving me ![]() hoisted there with sweaty palms to wander the sagging tents for a consolation peak, a word-drunk runaway palming the damp ![]() glass of a cotton candy machine with a loose blouse and shaded, fondling eyes. |
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