It’s a dirge,
for shot down kids in the street
A fragile ego on a Friday
Who says: “If you don’t
punch him,
you’re weak.”
It’s Rosy cheeks
Cross hatch sweaters
Irish dinosaurs slowly sighing
and saying “hmph”
It’s the life blood surging through your cancer ravaged broken down death blood body
And a whole body naïve kiss
at a repass
It’s pretension in the color of red
It’s vom in the shade of black
It’s acceptance in dark scarlet rooms
It’s success with an olive
Sexy
Hollywood star
C list
D list
Extra
Halfway House
Obituary
Then
the birth of a teenage star
with trusting parents.
parents that don’t care
It’s dollars in carbonation
And pension down the drain
hard work rewarded by temporary soft silk against sad puppy-eyed pores
It’s a warm chest
While cheating on your wife
after swallowing the worm
and feeling like a man
It’s Adult hands being kid hands
So they forget boundaries
Or build thoroughfares
with no lights
Traversing comfort
Through the labyrinth
Of a one night person
And
the frames blur
While the cinematographer
employs dutch angles
and goes wild
Digesting the self
Alcohol is an invisible person
Liberated from
the chains of reality
Imprisoned in
translucent shots
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