Turning too swift, like large smoky stallions in the dust of nothing, Audrey Rembrandt flashed her fish line eye lashes out toward the myriad ocean faces. Each nose, tort and giving, a thousand and many more faces making a mockery of their deliberate mutiny. Audrey Rembrandt the girl from the old silk stockings add, lithe Spartan singulars and voluptuous ventriloquists arse; it said nothing but moved and your mind spoke out loud all the rapturous sexual depravities you would commit into it, entering. Godfrey Blandstein stood in the shadows, watching. Audrey was his protégé, like a rapscallion rat found rattling through the tin can railway stations of renegade box cars, he found her. The crowd whooped and hollered, Audrey pouted and mouthed ‘I love you’, sensational lip lashing applause, soundless sexual tickles, each muscle, every delicate muscle and fibre, that controlled lips and skin of humanities sensuality was squeezed, an over used sponged crushed by the hand of god, not a drop was left as the dry mucous of glory emptied themselves. A victory from ashen flakes, a glittery all dancing, all singing phoenix in a conundrum of repetitive circles. Beginning in a maelstrom of fiery disbelief, a shattering cacophony of dispraise, resulting in the collection of minor memories and major nuances, Audrey Rembrandt swung a fabric twirl-dom from a singular sexual pearl clot.
After the show, drinking stinging whiskey in a stinking bar, with nothing but piss stained wood and darkened oak watching. Watching the old tired duke box, cough up its gut wretched rum Nancy toward a dawdling civil war clock, men would wait taking stock, of their own gurgling grouching frock blood wife, hating the shock of another repeated alcoholic cop, dragging their once young husband home, arrested for absconding and a de-moan. Broke, done shattered - she sleeps in fresh bought second hand sheet, where the end meets the ankles but never the feet, and clattered is the door, slashed with a drunken key, home is he.
-Audrey, I think you done it, tonight you had them! Godfrey gurgles - words out, white Russian in.
-Like every time. Audrey ailments audibly.
-No, tonight had them, got them all, got all them. Godfrey gargles - words splashed, rum and dash.
-Like every time.
Waking by eyes, dust bin, lids - old tin trains clattering wide apart, it’s the dumb founded start a day. Lips taste like a paranoid cigarette, heart too drowsy to know, someone asks for the rent, but you let them go. Sick from your elbows, dribbling snow, I tried to speak a word, but the word don’t want to know. Last night in Vegas, this night in glow; which way the street begins only neon teeth show. Brush with a razor, sleep with a scream, you think it’s a dream but the alarm bells chime. A crime in cup of water, your stomach says no, a double gin and brandy or else I want let you go. Audrey glaring with boiled onion eyes, through a net curtain, sucking back the noise through pupils so large, her whole bibliography could be typed in italics on the rim alone. Banana coloured fingers, coffee cup gums, breasts like pancakes too long in the sun. Sheets taste like two old men had strokes then a fight, smashing their livers with a clay baked night - the shower is kicking out some awful stream, the misty go between of an awful nights queen.
-Wake up Audrey, the papers are out. Godfrey gargantuan from his verbal spout.
-I can read anytime.
She touches herself and feels thee squeeze, theirs man on her sheets and man on her knees. Grinning with a disgusting self hate, what she hid in her pride she spat onto a plate; Godfrey a hungry, broken down wolf, sold her the image that was over blown and aloof.. What men give by whiskey they snatch back with sin, you can barely walk home, let alone not let him in. Her teeth have waved goodbye to a thousand well phrased songs, but her throat as suffered the sludge of a thousand men come too strong. Audrey by the window, crying without words, there is a show on tonight, across the road the name his hers. In post menstrual alphabet, large minstrel decline, the theatre is humming with life, bust but borrowed demise.
Audrey tosses the shot glass onto the door, her body can, like most women do, but her heart says no more.
