Listen the tinny
voice of the trumpet, but
he leans to interrupt.
Again the drunk bends
a black slip backwards, she
suspended by tattoos
with hands, night
though a doorway; dark,
surround that space.
If alone could be,
she'd paint blue
smoke and music,
not answer herself or
he eclipsing her shadow, not
tell a truth.
Tired offering --
tall, cool, a liquid:
Mirror, easy drained,
not looking.
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