Vegas Beauty Mark

Vegas 1

Vegas Beauty Mark


The road ahead like the road behind

yellow middle faded lines,

on the side, us, car, hood up,

sky blue prayers.

It wasn’t suppossed to go down the way it did.

Cookie left, Constance dead,

the taste of Pill still in my mouth

and Vegas, beauty mark drowned.

Lacrimose mascara gets itself together on the ground.

What do you want, she asks, what do you want, again

- not me. God. Or Constance.

Constance had the plan.

Under rain of a bright white light bulb

we puddled under umbrellas of smoke,

grinning, amazed by the math.

Cash, Constance promises. Each.

Enough to buy a house on the beach. Cash.

She was the shill for Pill and his Associates

playing it straight til late on a date

her Joe bumps the Jerry who sports escorts,

Vegas, beauty mark sound. Lips purse. Inflation.

Jerry and Joe, her and Constance,

blonde in all the right places.

What is it money can’t dye?

She breaks up with me on the phone.

Its weeks before I see her.

I think she’s knocking to apologize,

pounding for a kiss, the incessant doorbell

a consience, hers, she storms in,

commands my couch, We’ve got a plan.

We? Me and Constance. Who?

Dolores. When she says my name

her tongue trips on the syballant ‘s’

Dolores – and I fall. Again.

Vegas, beauty mark

drawn on the other side today.

When she draws it on the left

her green eye sparkles and the yellow flecks glow.

Any other day I’d've said no. Instead, I’m in.

Of meetings, suffice to say, there’s quite  a few.

We pack the bags under eyes.

Hustle blind. Time.

I realize I’m not in it for the money.

To watch thin muscles on her neck flex -

to smell her hair and the chemicals there…

Vegas, beauty mark bright.

It’s like that for Cookie with Constance.

Always never. Never now.

And then: right scene wrong scenery,

Vegas nowhere, Pill, front, center,

where he isn’t suppossed to be.

Cookie crumbles and flees

with the keys. Plan undone. Improv.

Pill, I say. He says Champagne.

Don’t know her, I say, shaking my head.

I think you do. He brings me to a room

where Vegas smiles, mouth ajar like

the door of a stolen car on the  side of the road, broken.

Sunlight spirals behind drawn curtains.

Is it two days or two weeks?

Vegas takes me by the hand.

We walk. Two years? Two hours?

Was it me? Was it she?

I steal us a Thunderbird

and we fly like an eagle.

Rear view mirror,

Vegas pencils in her mark

and even though it isn’t it feels like

our lives skid to the side and burn all day in the sun.

Tire burst. No spare.

Vegas, praying, grabbing, clawing,

as if her shadow were Constance

breaking nails on the asphalt of what was.

- g(c.08)

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One Response to “Vegas Beauty Mark”

  1. [...] with my poetry and video. The following were precursors to creating Purple Twilight and Vegas Beauty Mark. I think it’s more successful when the “poems” are “stories” like the [...]

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