the dark side with no boundaries.
in the brothel’s waiting room
do not speak to the aroused
like the thousand others at the lodge
across from the canopy.
the voices form against a mesh,
their cane chairs are visitors
like the ver women.
some treats like glands,
though it’s expensive and virtually extinct
the hors d’oeuvres she has are forest mushrooms
which number like roaches
with cheese flavoured water to drink.
in some ways we have come as dishes,
an offering of the fetish.
where are the barriers of taste
she will use for
curry number three?
understand that it’s a curried something,
prehistoric and disallowed.
perhaps the pot could have
some prepared for monkey,
rare and testing esoteric organs,
bound for the weekend.
not missed.
the sacrificial hotel.
the unaccounted for,
we are bound and then bound to come.
and our senses become as we tried.
or snakes
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