She shakes her tired-ass butt to the thrum of the juke, thrusts pelvis out to g- string in another ten dollar bill & maybe a buck from the cheapskate tonguing the air at bar's end.
Her dream was to be a ballet dancer, en pointe, roses tossed at her feet. Two babies, one divorce, later she no longer thinks of a ballet school opening--wouldn't mind a win at the lottery, though. She knows every man in the house wants her, would pay top dollar for one night, mouths milking her breasts, pumping their dark dreams deep inside her. She closes her eyes, dreams her own dreams, not theirs, sees rose petals drifting down through strobing lights, sees her two daughters asleep in their beds, legs arched, as if already leaping into the arms of a Swan Prince.
About the Author
Among other journals and poetry collections, Pris Campbell's poetry has been published in Poems Niederngasse, MiPo Publications (print/digital/radio), Boxcar Poetry Review (her poem in the May 2007 issue won the issue's peer award), The Dead Mule: An Anthology of Southern Literature, In The Fray, Blackmail Press, Tears in the Fence, Thunder Sandwich, Verse Libre, and the Woman of the Web Anthology. Her chapbook, Abrasions, was published by Rank Stranger Press and Interchangeable Goddesses, with Tammy Trendle, by Rose of Sharon Press, S.A. Griffin, publisher.
My curse is my gift. My nightmares, deep sensitivity, and emotional instability gives the best (and most uncomfortable) inspirations I could ever have. For me, art is passion - and visions are the mirror, which show my feelings and connect me with the rest of the world. Read More...