kid booper

[constantine]

from out of the blue of the western thighs
kid booper rode the dog to skid city
fabled stories of high-heeled women
breasts with plastic propellers
twirling like six guns
cheap boozy broads
with pouty lips, nicotine-ringed
and eyes that say harder harder
it was paradise at black rock
for a cowpoke on the old jism trail
sure, there was competition
there's always competition
the blackleather boys
the smoothies from south street
papa roc and the dog soldiers
they weren't pushovers
they wouldn't go down easy
the propellers were spinning in opposite directions
how the fuck does she do that
whatever possessed her to do that
who the fuck ever thought of doing that in the first place
it seemed anatomically impossible
but then again she was doing it
been doing it for over ten minutes now
kid booper was perplexed by her demeanor
the bored, disconnected look in her eyes
as she blew smoke rings in reverse
black hole drawing you in
and spitting you out
like a cheese puff stuck in a hair dryer