The Honesty of Harlots

Young harlot is the most honest of all a fist of coins for a dollop of flesh more honest than the soil and rain that turn opera into palettes of cackle blood blossoms sprouting from grayness. Some Johns offer flowers or budget cigarettes. A bouquet of mirrors and cancer-she thinks. While she nibbles the stems off their souls The tongue - her pungent weapon of brevity. Old harlot is the least honest of all. Masking a puffy face with budget smiles. Holding flesh together with time's disintegration. flecks of waning star dust minced by gravity a ball of yellowing yarn-beneath whirling paws.