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A Poem in the Before Choice Disturbs collection

Drunken Whisper

"Come here,"
you breath into my ear,
with your vodka tinted breath;
arm around my shoulder,
as you whisper off in a rabid rash.
You once took a man's face,
his gaping jaw embraced the sidewalk,
and you crashed your booted foot over his head.

With your eyes
all red from the late hour
and cheap liquor,
you sing your praises.
Curbing this guy;
curbing your appetite with
this violent scrap.

You smile, telling me how easy it is:
lifting your foot
to the proper height,
showing me the stomping force.
I watch, not looking away,
to catch the lift and smash and shake
as I feel the linoleum tremble.

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