“There was a blue shade to West Hollywood this evening. Even flash of crimson red could not distract her. Cars flashed past on the Drive, as bright sunshine attempted to include her. This was not really her part of town and no-one really noticed her. Everyone looked through her as if she was a ghost. A West Hollywood Girl, she thought wrly. There was an atmosphere of utter disintegration in Hollywood this evening that no-one could touch but she felt it in the blue pigmentation of the West Hollywood sky.”
Time seemed to stand still. Moments shifted in front of her in a glitch. She was dimly aware of the ground moving slightly and colours merging. Then all of a sudden, she was standing facing the Space Twins. One was hidden but the other one was staring right at her with a look of such intensity that she had to look away. It was all over in a second but it was the longest second of her life. Everything shifted back into normal reality. She tentatively looked down at the shaking camera in her hand and wondered if she had caught a snapshot of the pair.
A Space Twin Portrait.
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Movie-star in love with golden aquila,
lay across ancient ruins like Roman goddess
with arched back and five star insecurities.
Rasping vespa screeched around ancient stones,
as she splashed porcelain in crystal clear fountains,
trying to be sultry native with hopeless words.
Don’t let her read the love poems of Catullus,
or she will be forever dreaming of thousands of kisses,
tortured by unrequited love and hooded traitors.
Hallucinating tattooed film stars and la dolce vita,
she was lost to the city and it swept her up,
along with all the other wannabe Italian starlets.
The New York Times wraps around her consciousness in the harsh NYC sunlight, like cheap trash caught in a gust. If only she could be as NYC as that beautiful rag? Leather cap on and attitude to match, she cleans up the graffiti with a saintly smile. She feels at home here, down on the sidewalk, cleaning up these mean streets but she hides a deep dark secret. By day, she is the NYC Commander but at night she spray paints a new identity on these poor city walls. Drips of paint brush against her rubber mac soul as she fights two identities on these NYC streets.
She is a true NYC street fighter. But she has only one enemy.
Rapid flickers of bright colour flash by, red line beating hard across the New York sidewalk, as the noise of the night crescendos. Out of the colour, she walks hard towards you, commanding dalmatians in a shiny leather jumpsuit, tailored made in the Bronx. Facing you down on the street, the deep scar on her face only accentuates her growling beauty. Your heart beats faster as she approaches…Leather Cruella, queen of the sidewalk.