The Glass Bottle

Murky sound, traveling under water
Mellow yellow light fills my eyes
Clarity of expression through my fingertips
Urban attack, swank bank between my thighs
Stay woke, fam.
Independent study of the lines on your face
Fellowship of the Pen, Return of the Queen
Capsule learning, getting to know you
Adrenaline to expel about
The disease that
Binds me to this Life.
Day job ’til I die,
Compartmentalize the details
That separate me from this dream
The scritch of this pen
Echoes because of the excellent acoustics
Images of three, short phrases precede your emojis
Pithy blurbs of immaculate sex and fashion shows
Wearing the lingerie you bought me
In the heat of the moment
Feather light against your skin
I really have to refresh
Sniffling in front of the cameras
It’s not coke, no
I only drink it from glass bottles
Ten cents off the side of the road,
Afflictions of historical accuracy.

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