She showed up last year
with a group of drunken babies, hedonists and
She was plastered with all the
Punk-rock concentrated jim-jams:
bra through net-top
Belladonna gap-tooth smile
and shot through with stainless.
Baptized in a barrel of butcher knives with
an advanced degree in
taking her clothes off.
Not pretty in the Marie Claire Sorority way
but like a blinding light
in the Austin TX swamp of
doughy Bettie Page haircut
pre-fab Rockabilly Stepford wives.
She now spends her time
shaking her ass
to pay for 5-dollar hamburgers and
cab rides for her
Rockers with teeth in their
hearts and brains,
bartenders with dead eyes
of young Republicans in
date-rape shirts spelled out in Greek.
This punk-rock world as closed-minded and limited
as any Jew-hating country-club.
Loss follows her as she chases
Dogs made of shadows through
The perfect cobweb.