Fun House

Every ceiling is a labyrinthine oil painting
teeming with extra terrestrial orgies.
The walls are panoramic woodcuts.
Stepping into those mountain scenes
is as conceivable as
strolling into the masseuse crowded sauna.
Every stage is a marble chessboard
adorned with crystal armies.
Upon their gleaming surfaces,
fembot strippers re-enact legendary epics.
In dim light
they’re indistinguishable from flesh and blood.
The table dancer’s nipple tassels
are as opulent as the Taj Mahal.
After laying eyes on her glamorous glutes
God dropped her cosmic chisel in disbelief.
In the hallway
lingerie models frolic on inflatable fortresses,
their skirts billowing like parachutes.
The bookcases are mahogany ballerinas
spinning like manic frisbees.
Every balcony is a carnival ride
rotating as swiftly as Jupiter
after sixteen jugs of coffee.
Who has been there just once?

2 thoughts on “Fun House

  1. I liked “Every stage is a marble chessboard adorned with crystal armies.” “Crystal Armies” would make a great title for a book or a poem. I see that God is a female, which the bra-burners of the 1960s always believed.

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