Air Sex

You saw a gray mouse today  
in the form of a girl  
pickin' her way, skittering through  
the trail of alley apples.  

On her mannequin’s body  
wracked by a smoker's cough,  
wrappings of newspaper headlines  
held fast with twine.  
 
Ticker tape judders from  
the fortune cookie  
between her thighs,  
but don't stare too long  
 
cause you might see the  
ink blot of two profiles.  
That is,  
if she still gets her period.  
 
And if she holds still  
long enough, her eyes will  
show you the mania. But she's  
studying you right back.  
 
And the scab-engers of her arms  
are more chaos than you can handle,  
so don’t be square just standin' there  
playin' air sex...  
                        
WHACK!  
 
 
The "sound" of this piece is like the cadence of a "beat" poem (Ginsberg, Kerouac, etc).