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she sit before the mirror, hanging mirrors on her |
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ears and spreads the spraypaint on the haystack that |
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she calls her hair. She fills a crack, prepares her |
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nails like blood-dipped spears (they're dripping!) |
|
Smears the lipstick, licks her lips and slips inside |
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her leopard skin--a plunging 'v' from neck to knees, |
|
but nothing's seen, it's just suggested. Tonight she'll |
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make a plea for starving whales and heart disease |
|
in trees. She's on T.V., she's longing for a 10 from |
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presentation, application, lubrication; she'd do any- |
|
thing . . . anything to win. And Yang and Yin, the |
|
juggling twins, come spinning past her door to mild |
|
applause and 5.4s and cleaning floors 'til lights |
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out. Funny Murray taps his worry beads and reads |
|
the Tarot. She looks around and sneers. No com- |
|
petition, superstition. Blind ambition. She'd do any- |
|
thing to win. And 834's her lucky number . . . |
