Not Fit To Shine Shoes

Not Fit to Shine Shoes By the time she took her chair in the gods, Her singularity had brewed a certain solitude about her person. Someone so chronically untouched That the pixels of her skin were already turning to dust. Once a man noticed her, As she blended like cream in coffee To the backround hustle-and-bustle of the room. She felt his eyes Crack marks into her like a map. And she wondered, What must a man see in feline stature For the hem of his eyes to catch flames, Like a reflection passing over a glass surface. What marvelous intensity this is, of course, The stars slurring As she beats her heart like the humming. But she was nothing but waste And bleating restrictions of measurements. This being to a dead soul decomposing on matted dreams. O to be young again! Beautiful girls, Beautiful girls.....