Runway
A poem on the superficial
Crowds goggle about her landing strip strutting bare plucked pudendum pressed in a thong, flush flesh peeking. Desperate, they attempt to catch a slip or a whiff— to click at her shape like beached whales or wounded bats baleful to impale, sense emphatic of sex alone. They cannot see her history in utero, the price she paid sold for chump change.
Art by Daniel Richter
The disturbing spectatorship of sex. The bruised economics of it all. The ugly slobbering of the crowd. That “history in utero” line floored me here. Every body on display was once a baby, innocent, before the world priced them and picked it apart.
What an excellent pair of this poem and painting!