poetic exercise

Rustbelt ribbons flow all through her hair -
that satin-stained, Dixie girl of jazz
and her distant dagger-throwing stare

break horny gawks of truckers who dare
whistle wildly at her titties as
rustbelt ribbons flow all through her hair.

And though they disgust, they do not care;
they only see the nice ass she has
and her distant dagger-throwing stare.

But something strange has filled the air.
It does not sound like a Cajun jazz,
it sounds like Dixie’s become a spazz!

SHIT, SHE GOT A KNIFE!!!

Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah…

The end.