Stuff of Beauty

Chucky lies with a great gash in his side.

His eyes are pokeless and presumably glassy

He smells like a thousand nights of sleep

Carpet burn from the red millennium shag

Air conditioning from the nineties.

A resettlement of dust.

 

A clean, white tulip sits like a contented alien

In an empty Heineken bottle.

The green glass continues to sweat

So the label crimps, a vinyl record.

The hurtfully pretty lady, her ape-like man

Stalks in her wake, moony-eyed and full of love.

 

Beauty and the beast

Makes a beauty of the beast.

The End

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