A Minneapolis Skyline

Silence,
on the streets and blank-faced,
is what is seen.
Sex and coffee shops strung out
paper people nestled in cookie-cutters.
Although there is no gingerbread terrace.

Ballerina hula hoops her pole.
He pisses in a urinal blanketed
in grime and overheard the mold
harvest that convenes between tiles.

One dollar for a sneak peek,
twenty-five for a grind behind curtains.
only if you want to feel their tattoos.

Divas and saleswomen's
(formality on résumés)—
pineapples and perfumes grab hold.
A flirt in their eyes,
snake coiled at their hooves.

With chapped lips Frenched stilettos,
they taunt with twats
and bought thoughts,
a radiator chilled a single rain drop.

Be sharply warned
statesman and scholars,
well-wishers and borrowers
caught in the spider's web:

"They can touch you,
but you can't touch them."

Ticklers of manhood
as thespians to tear ducts.
Eliot's Nightingales are
ice cream in winter.

Stephen Danos was born in Providence, Rhode Island, on October 31, 1983, and is currently an English major at the University of Iowa. He spends his summers with his mother and father in Naperville, Illinois. He posts a blog at http://profiles.myspace.com/users/5208755