Friday, November 11, 2016

Slip

And then it hits me
the buzz
the slide
the slick waves that grease my vision
neon smeared across the windows
pale ghosts in the rain
dressed in suggestion
moving through my fingers
smiles fading like smoke
knife heels on concrete
buildings leaning in
animal spirits crowded and leering
breath like dry ice
though there's a stubborn ember
somewhere deep
remnants of an old Norse flame
which will be the last thing to go

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