THE INFERNAL DARLING
OF DILDO ROW
She wears her garment as on Peachtree
Boulevard in very heavy snow. Dangling
lead earrings in the whiteness, she'll go
back to Madame's Castle every morning.
She reads meticulously written tomes
of heavy water, words and paragraphs
dense with talk. Old Russian novels?
Victorian melodramas? American pulp?
Anything will do to help her pass the
time away. Like a prisoner intact in
her Freedom too - Long lost the
gabled love and rosy future once
thought to be her right.
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