Burning Plastic Rose by Robert Morrison

Burlesque Press

This bar’s fluorescents burn, shimmering
like the remnants of an exploded star, my slight hair slick
like oil mixed with gravel. I follow flashing blouse buttons
attached to sun-darkened skin, faux gold-plated
circles, not fastened all the way up, the shirt seemingly transitory,
inviting my wandering eyes, stiff like the beads of an abacus.

I count out my chances on my fingers, crude abacuses,
as every other person disappears, shimmering
and whited-out like a mistake. I hail the bartender for transitory
courage, as the girl flashes ivory tower teeth, a slick
way to gather my attention. I sip alcohol, plated
by its hops and barley, still not knowing which buttons

to press for bravery. My mouth closed as if by a button,
this girl becomes a mental equation no abacus
could solve, her smooth skin appears plated
on her bones, as if the sun’s shimmering
took over her shell. Standing…

View original post 225 more words


Leave a Reply

Please log in using one of these methods to post your comment:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s