A Barber’s Betrothal

She pours out a blue beer/, it dissolves and vanishes./She pours it three times, /this frosted compound./She tells someone I love her./ They pass a bottle, I pay more attention. /The implement discovers a crook in her spine./ True to form, I tell her I love her./ I rise every morning,/ light a cigarette/ pull my clothes on./ I murmur a popular song. /I have no love line;/ ink smears when it’s printed./Concerned with beauty, /a fatal stitch of fabric,/ a leap in serious magic./But she’d been there before,/her eyes sick from rockets, visions concealed./I know her secret from that popular song.

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