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Archive for April 9th, 2010

Solo

By Pete Simonelli

Ana

slips deep

into the corner

of the sofa

lights a smoke

and curls her legs

fast among the crumbs

and coins

saying little

or nothing at all

to withstand

that deepening stare

that whips up

a pass

through anonymous

but inviting

climes

and comes perched

despite

her critical stores

of boredom

One

frail shift

and that

brittle perch

comes undone

collapsing

one blink

at a time

into the low

opiated rumble

since departed from her ears

once she really

snapped to, hissing

shit!

suddenly mindful

of the fresh

nail polish she

daintily avoids

smudging

despite her burning

cigarette

and mother’s

mothering calls

she could

be rising

again

padding barefoot

into her room

like that

shutting the door just

like that

to

him, to

him turning

that strange

blue

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