Saturday, March 6, 2010

.157 [the floor]

everybody falls in love
it's that kind of place
it's that kind of night

the fog is inside
and the smoke rises
out

the legs - the thighs
the breasts -
a real bucket of chicken

a token of affection
an afterthought
in the parking lot

glasses raised high
replacing religion
leaving worship

trying to get home...
trying to
beat the sun

until then
we have a few hours
so let's dance.

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