swindle

            Extracts I and III from "Swindle", by Victoria Bardot

                 I.

wash away the poisons,
for your lips are stained:
my fingertips got bluish
while blending all my meds

and I mourned for all those who thought
their pain had a meaning but didn't

                        III.

Maybe we prayed to the wrong gods
we prayed to Rimbaud and to his hash pipe
we prayed to Thompson and to his bullets
we prayed to Burroughs and to his needles
we prayed until our knees got sore and weary,
and the warm winds brought nothing but flu
and the heaven above would not open for us.



© Text: VICTORIA BARDOT 2013, ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
    Image: from "The Basketball Diaries" (1995)