Ava Is On Something

 

 

Ava Is On Something

by

Jon Presco

Copyright 2017

Inspired by the midnight tales of Christine Wandel

 

Ava is on something

it’s not hard to tell

Look at the sickly crowd she hangs with

have you ever seen so much

euro-trash squeezed into

young people’s pantyhose?

Like sausages

hanging in a old

polish slaughter house

And those fake suede

high heal boots

capped with black fuzz of sorts

tapping out a cadence

of dying flesh

across the old boards

in the vanished garment district

now red light eye-sores

in the new

get in everyone’s business

sort of art

whore houses

 

Over there

in the Look at Me Gallery

full of bugs

crawling out of

a wrinkled vagina

splashed with the urine

of a naked man

peeing in an empty jug

of orange juice

You can tell Ava is on something

her pale flesh

gives her away

as she slips a fiver in

the begging fish bowl

perched atop the pedestal of

NO SHAME

 

Are those warm nuked yams

crammed on a cheap paper plate

next to the opaque plastic cups

half full of bad Burgundy

that looks like donated blood

Too many needy artists

spoil the broth

And the old count must

must get in bed

before dawn.

 

Poor sickly Ava

just came for a taste

of immortality

But now is in a swoon

fading fast in the

mirror of cruelty

crucified

yet again

on the unjust track-lighting

For

she has lost her place

in the scheme of things

while a woman pleads

“Just one kiss

is this too much to ask?”

Then comes the karate chop

to the neck

and a hard kick

to the back of the knees.

 

Ava

is going down

to the bourgeois

Bowery powder room

to get her all-knowing nose

un-packed and back on track

she once again full of Euro-ocity

full of wanna-be stuck-ups

who always

forgot to look at the art

For they just came to see

if Ava is on something

and can they have some