WEARING ARMY FATIGUES ON THE STREETS OF SHANGRI-LA
BY JANET BENTLEY

Naked in the real world
Yet pounding down prison walls
Seaking out the sanctum
The woman fingers naval
Thinking quite nothing
Nothing quite at all
But Headline News dramas
Dilemmas chiseled into guts

She sits, squandering skin oils
Pounding on thick doors
To find the lost horizen
She wonders who lost it anyway
And why it costs so damn much now
The streets of Shangri-la are chained in gridlock
Platoons carry organs to and fro
The whole bit
The bullets cry cock a doodle doo and sing lullabies to the waning
purple twilight
And while,
Naked through the window on the real world map
She wears army fatigues on the streets of Shangri-la
Just like suicide heros
Cast a bronze-gold shadow
And love is billed by credit ratings
Faked by orgasms burnt counterfeit
Forced by neurasthenic fingers