Down at the Local (ped 15)

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I have wedged myself in this booth, in this bar to hunt
a murderer for this spiderwise anxiety stalking my skin.
I thought to choke it with a clutch of human heartbeats,
the garrote of good friends, who sure, I'd love a drink
but i am stuck, staring, at the broken rings
the glasses leave behind


I have one ear only tracking the stories that bubble
boisterous quip by quip, amongst them, their foamed lips
and wine dark teeth all bared and upturned, at me, for me
and I am trapped inside these circle, these not circles never
round, edges never touching, never stretching enough
to reach each other, never complete.

Created: Apr 16, 2014

Tags: poem a day, friends, drink, poetry, love, poem

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