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.