miss kitty

sheila exists in the neon lights. twirling and descending by way of the stainless steel pole at center stage. she falls to earth slowly. spinning like dead leaves. the color green all around her. like saint augustine grass of some glade that she has never seen. her heaven blasts several decibels above voice level. and it feeds the pantomime. the eyes going supernova all around. in the surrounding blackness. the void of patrons. her darkness. her black space. coupled with her like tar pits and skeletal remains. black as black. thick as coagulated blood. and thick as thieves.