by Alexis Pope

If car horn use kitten. If tomorrow’s parties use peacock alarm. Too many ways to die etc. Belgrade in a chicken closet and how we ordered all that hot rice. To drive thru mini burgers you would say and raise the paper cup. My mouth stable. My thickening coop. Trap door hatch to. Thirst and not enough shelf space. I resign to bedridden. Not another imaginary spearmint tea. To snowless winter. To havoc on the Pink Line. Never been to where. Or the weather in Halliburton. All these sores. In the evenings I uncork. The fruit basket. A liquor store on Exchange Street. Something burning on the water front. To give my life back. Source of the pain’s center. That one was tall with broad shoulders. While I slept they were kind. I’ll forget it later. Raise yours to the black out. Raise mine I’ll drop it. To pin sequins to fabric. Hold rubber cement under. If I had answers I’d be. In the still of the Underhill Bodega the child sleeps on the floor.

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