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A Babbling Burlesque

Jewish beach club teeming in fire-fly nostalgia
Auburn memories spank yoga-lifted a**

During Porum, tennis house cluttered with chlorine smelling produce.
Father sits with hair-plugs sharp against freckled scalp


Beach club with mile-long drive way and sprouting deer
Beach club blowing with withered leaves and ear wax

1980s arcade games awkwardly planted in stale basement room
Towel, soldier of summer pools, lies disgruntled like twisted warrior

Plastic pool chairs freckle large aqua pool and tanned, mildly attractive lifeguard
Plays Temple Run on IPhone

Pessimist lies in off-white bikini, cradling half read book with legs propped
She thinks of her lover as plantains are delivered to the fat lady next to her

Gold-diggers unite and cry in unison:
Spread the crooked legs of the poplar tree!

Reach up into the fake-wood of the rooftop and the off-green carpeting of the
Front Lobby, shadowed by spilled coffee and browned photographs

Love makes love to itself by the third cloud away from the waterslide. The smell
Seeps into the pool and makes it even bluer

Prickly legs and crusty toes, leaking eyebrows and crackled lips- all for what?
To sit at Jewish beach club and eat Thai Salads and watch middle ages women tan sagging bodies?
For what do I shower, to find true love, to make love when love only wants to make love to itself, to try and enamor love with all my mortal defeats and tragic flaws

I see through love in the morning, when everything is clear



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