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Dregs.

Updated on October 5, 2009

Dregs.

© -MFB III

Black velvet dissolves my pain,
neon painted by a bar light,
chasing it away with a beer,
on a stool next to apathy
where no one cares to sit.

Some ladies laughter,
at a table behind me,
tinkles like wind chimes,
heard long ago in the
winds of what was
interrupting my conversation
on my date with numb.

Five more rounds
and I'll get lucky,
rising on quivering legs,
floating like an ice cube
across a hot griddle,
only realizing the door
after it slams behind me.


Befuddled by keys that
offer me nowhere to go,
I'll impale that tiny hole
with clumsy stabs,
going Helen Keller
on its chrome confusion
then dissolve into a puddle
of flesh and drool
across the back seat of my
motel on wheels...
in blissful oblivion.

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