Out of jail, Alex, gives himself, freely, with cash abounding,
It is not conspicuous consumption, or bumption, or a silent night.
From the trying pan, to the Pan of fire.
The innocent whore is not a nymph, but that doesn’t prevent Alex fr’m thinking so.
Alex isn’t Pan, but that doesn’t prevent him from behaving so.
Alex’s paws are not cloven hooves,
Pan on every nymph he sees.
The innocent whore is not a child. She’s a woman, twenty-two years old. She’s lithe, and moves a lissom move, all womanly. Yet, in some mysterious way she remains inexperienced.
What do they dig when they choose her?
A lissom woman bends with ease. That’s a selling point, but not the reason.
To touch innocence and dirty it?
A whore with her expensive perfume– a suspicion there’s a “cover up”. And what’s covered up is revolting. When the revolting is covered up, it is even more revolting, though what is sensed is a beautiful pheromone, musky.
A cop with his Ivory or Dial soap, his neutral shaving lotion, his spritzing of his face, staring in the mirror to partake of his glory– his righteousness– and who cares if it is self-righteousness and self-righteousness is ab whore n’t?
Clang! “Get in there, asshole,” says the older cop. Alex is thrown in. He gets his shoulder beneath him before he smashes down to the hard prison floor.
Leave a comment