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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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