Slanging Leather Pursed

chalks the walk, a barefoot pouch, the cheeky tans “bitchin’” catwalk vocables                                     the talk of the town                                     manstanding clowns               hawking                                         down                                                                 neanderthal gravities glad-handing hi-five odes to stereo cavities, analog to digital catwalks             Their hot torpedoes             turn avocado, burning pork loins tongue their dead vibrato                                     not with standing                                     her slitted cabaret Salons to the right of them, saloons to the left of them                                     talking shit                                     taking heat Idiomatic switchboards thunder lightning dreams of displaced dew Swinging lean               on Mean Street USA                             her buns glow south, her                                         tongue talks a gat’s bad walk Gunning eyes shoot blanks as stares, man to man to men tumescent                                         her stalking                                                     pterodactyls                                                                     bird the word