Maggie, Darling

“The truth lies outside.”
You wear your secrets on a sleeve
Say, you take a bite of chocolate
& let it linger on your tongue
then slide it down with Chilean wine.
That’s not de riguere. But it’s okay.
High society doesn’t demand sensitivity.
A gym rat but your abs say otherwise.
There’s some slab of fat in that space
between your clit & your guts.
Well, it’s la dolce vita in Milan.
Aren’t you a deadringer for some European?
Of course, a knowledge of Italian
is a must: You cultivate it
as you do the contour of your ass.
You think you’re murderously smart?
Yup, some stacks of cheap paperbacks
to speed read, like those fast cars
or the quickies you pirouette
on your dirty old man’s bed.
(O Your lovers don’t have a clue about Zizek)
You must have control
so you leave hurriedly but softly
brushing off the bills on the mirror –
You fool! She’s not a paid whore!
Just a liberated hip-hop kid
Now & then at the knell of bells
a path to the chapel you beat
to sanctify your soul’s lacanian shit –
Nothing like a prayer to scrub clean
the semen & saliva of your virginal strategem.
“The truth lies outside.”
You wear your secrets on a sleeve.

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