The Taco Platter Inferno Bowel of the Desert

by NW Hall

The Taco Platter Inferno Bowel belongs
to a woman propping herself up against
the billiard table for a last shot at the 8 ball.

Two clerks at AMPM are pooling
their wealth to a buy a $5 lotto ticket
on pay day when they can afford it.

This desert city's dry asphalt throat
screams. People need only open up
their mouths somewhat to blend in.

Dogs are fighting over fresh spots to shit.
Drunk men lose hope in bar bathrooms
until sober ones help them to cold floor.

A good sink flops off a wall as slowly
as this nation breathes in oxygen tank.

No matter how mysterious the torsos of men...
No matter how liquid breasts look after a beer spray...
No matter how softly light touches on neat, green lawn...

Everyone has to live the same fucking,
breathing, giggling, walk the dog to death life.

By the way:

Jesus wants money for church.
Women in desert cities only go for strangers.
The gods lose interest when people stop killing.

When California begins its everything must go
sale, women in shorts not long enough for pockets
will American Dream through their cotton panties.

Then they will wander the streets with their soaked
crotches smelling like white crests of wheat fields.

Taco Platter Inferno Bowel woman will be the harbinger
of apocalypse in this desert because when summer comes
she'll be one of the beauties the gods watch put on shorts.
Her dog will go with her to buy tacos and lottery tickets.


NW Hall's previous publications include Blackbox Manifold, decomp, Shampoo, spork, Word Riot, and Pure Francis.

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