Cities and suburbs, real and imaginary.

Tuesday, August 28, 2007

robot prostitute speaks

I am a Robot Prostitute with a smile
Made entirely of the lost, brown teeth
Of other prostitutes. My breasts feel like
Real prostitute breasts. They’re silicone
And covered in ruined pleather from
the worn-down jackets of other prostitutes.

My engine runs entirely on nicorette gum
burned to a crisp that leaks from my redwax lips
to keep the authentic taste of streetwalker.

I am made to wiggle seductively
With the help of my recycled condoms
over recycled champagne
that I use for my human-like skin
that tastes exactly the way
prostitute skin should taste
after i smother it in smooth vaseline.
between my legs, i have a flashlight
at the end of a tunnel
that was made out of lost shoes
and smells like all the places
where lost shoes have been.

I keep my seventeen cats behind the garage
Where I go to make sandwiches
out of cigarettes and methadone and two fat
slices of pot brownies, sliced thin.

my head is made of one giant lightbulb
I have a blacklight in my pelvis.
they make interesting colors when I move around
they keep the right places nice and warm,
and they attract the right number of flies
men don't come to me unless
i can attract lots of flies.

somebody told me to say I loved him.
this exceeds the parameters of my design
I was only supposed to fuel his vanity
and his self-disgust

In truth, I suspect love is like when my seventeen cats,
upon eating their sandwiches,
stagger away and away and away
and then, they fall down.

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