Cotton cobwebs fuzz the ceiling,
clinging to the corners with frosty, fluttering tentacles. Plump black
widows sporting bow ties splay shadow ribboned corners. Pleather-winged bats
with styrofoam fangs flap in the torrential currents
of ceiling fans. Twiggy brooms with plastic glazed handles balance
by the door – but no single cathedral-spire peaked head grabs one, shatters
through window panes, sonics over moons
to anywhere elsewhere at all.
The floor sprouts legs shuffling to rat-a-tat-ing heart-drums
while pretenders pop truffles
into lipsticked ear-to-ear smiles or nuclear bomb explosions
of glitter-pixie-fairy-dream-dust-lip-glossed grins.
Red stilettos under a frothing blue plaid jumper trip-trap
across candy wrapped floor boards slick with foamy beer.
Tilt skywards up translucent smoked legs.
Pause at Dorothy’s cobwebbed smile,
and mustache fuzzed lips.
Underneath the dead disco moon, crescent-sliced
by shadows into cheshire grins, I tap
one checkered shoulder. Two red plastic beer cups click together over ruby stilettos.
“Won’t you please come home with me?”