[…]


Vernon Frazer

Slanging Leather Pursed

chalks the walk,
a barefoot pouch, the cheeky tans
“bitchin’” catwalk vocables

                                    the talk of the town
                                    manstanding clowns

              hawking

                                        down

                                                                neanderthal

gravities glad-handing
hi-five odes to stereo cavities,
analog to digital catwalks

            Their hot torpedoes
            turn avocado, burning

pork loins tongue their dead vibrato

                                    not with standing
                                    her slitted cabaret

Salons to the right of them,
saloons to the left of them

                                    talking shit
                                    taking heat

Idiomatic switchboards thunder
lightning dreams of displaced dew

Swinging lean

              on Mean Street USA

                            her buns glow south, her

                                        tongue talks a gat’s bad walk

Gunning eyes shoot
blanks as stares, man to man

to men tumescent

                                        her stalking

                                                    pterodactyls

                                                                    bird the word

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