The Brothel

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Your bathing belles are like a dirty brothel umbilicus.
Your bonkbuster, your claptraps, your glottochronologies, your joined—up writing, are bailiwicks
Of this bulky brothel.
The flophouses are erupting warm toilet chunks all night
With walking encyclopaedias, sky pilots, astrotourists. It’s at night
Sometimes I spank widdershins. I just milk
Myself spanking widdershins, shitting with stiff upper lip, for the nonce
Lurking in my squat gloaming, puzzling over
What you had sexual intercourse with. Pushing pending,
I flash you — at some anonymous impregnating,
Being caught with one’s pants down upstairs, unblushing, ninety years old.

Copyright © Irma Cerrutti 2009

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  • COMMENTS
1 Comments
tigerjentigerjenabout 13 years ago

Raw....very raw...