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Feb 2015
The amber bottle rested on the cozy
while you tossed back *****. Crackling
over ice, popping to the warm quake
tumbling down your throat. Voices
to the right bounced, shot *****
into pockets, towards the corner
sulking after being hit. You've sipped
your dignity, having an allergic reaction,
your eyes cursed, blood stained
glasses diced palms, attached
with glass in hope of feeling numb.
Jonathan Howard
Written by
Jonathan Howard  Vermont
(Vermont)   
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