Whiskey

Separated in pain,

What I would give,

to have that inordinate reality back,

a merry-go-round, an empty bottle,

and a movie clip that fades to black,

and a shadow casts its presence over me,

a shadow so sick,

waddling with a bottle of whiskey.

Stone cold,

a fuzzy shape that’s misty.

Curdles us both and eats us up,

Corpus Christi.

 

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