they worshiped her 

her thin arms throttling

her guitar. her voice

up in arms

in ours

drink drinking us

smoke

smoking us. we stepped

up and down mixing love in the round

bodies sounding in rooms and the music banging harder

life is a party and

drunk to work - the saturday weave -

in the avenues, our views straight

asking for no mercy,

so grotesque, even here

so drenched,

my little half moons

resting on the bottom of my glass

this morning

no ice

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