So I will be your
flaneur, yes,
that’s what I will be,
flanerie my technique
of touching your
Flanerie, not flattery. I will
not paint — I will photograph
your constructed
your concreted skin
your starred and lit / your
banner camera hair
your dirty ruined / your
crumble and birdshit
This angular flapper frame will walk
its dancy walk all over your
Observe my mannish
my collection of quirky
my faux fur and genuine leather / my
shoeshined, styled, alien-eyed / my
Never actual/present, existing
only in pataphor, yet
coming to get your
(First published in Thirst)