Disembodied Mannequins

The moonlit room is semi-bathed, glassed-in ancient jukebox grooves
Diamond-cut, the pale-sheened light swiftly fades, mottled hollows deeply bruised
Old black LP records skip, fueled with dusty heartbeat scratches
Ruthless flashing powerlines, impressive currents, blinding batches
Spark high voltage firecrackers, electrifying blasts emerge
Drag racing through the cloudy mindset of a superficial world

Devoid of any pretense, the deadly disembodied mannequins leer
Strange unsettling stares behind their wet bedraggled wedding veils; sheer
gauzy pastings chipped, no hopes are clinging to their dirty-minded faces
Their gathered whalebone corsets ruined in a rage of sudden madness; cases
tied in lifeless tangled knots of scum, uncaring stark reality
against an oozing background of agonizing culture shock banality

No delicate deodorizing of the sickening subtle smell
The sour marination of sharp ammonia, a penetrating well
orchestrating desolate hydraulic woodwind sections, whistling tones
Sounds of death and dying in their ammonia basement home