I walked into the bar with a bunch of toughs,
bullies, The Holy Roman Empire.
They knew the ways in which we could be locked in and out.

One of the times, it made me stop, but not before I drank my
self italicized.

*

Before I gave it up,
I let pain reverberate off every brick wall,

as pain will, as it breaks with abstraction.

But solid as a Grecian marble in a mirror,
I’d tongue the bittersweet eyeliner for application.

Hippocrates measured my pulse, an insistent march figure.
A Riviera-thick cat eye.

Vodka-pale.

*

I watched myself do it.

The sound got on me, and I believed anything
that was power.

Please
don’t make me a joke,
I asked someone.

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