It’s a doggie world out there.
loud sounds.
nails that scratch.
words that bind.
To be stuck in the middle: a curse; a relief.
For you see, life is for living.
But the dead come, at night.
With their voices soft as thunder.
Bitter remembrances.
Does a single count?
As much as a tree, house.
Inarticulate little claws scream:
Violence! Violence!
Caucus rational
four wingéd streets.
The rain, baptismal.
It all started with a look.
that kills.
that stains.
that taints, and jades.
But we’re the unhappy ones:
the dollar in between dreams.
where are the dads?
So farewell, Leicester Square.
but my heart’s right there.
Never less, crushed feet under a mountain of lies.
We con front.
Splatter.
Desecrate.
All-involuntary humanity.
It’s all the same, Lupe & Lill.
The clichés wound so tight.
Birds of pray flock upon us, at night.
For a table and a brandy,
a smoke, shop.
a car, plow.
a breath, gone.
Walk with me, gone.
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#207
MOLLIE C. REEVES
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March 29, 2012
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