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Boston: New Year I'm nearsighted near the Almadovar two guys wander out of the all-night movie, I'm feeling campy wanting to see the harbor lights or Rita Hayworth. I'm glued on the Spanish wishing for someone to love even sober Boston aches tonight wanting high heels the air to redden us or to have a hero move out of the darkroom. I smell pot pouring down a rotisserie of adolescence mushrooms around me as I leave the theatre… unconfined, etherized yet wishing to be a year younger entering another January hoping for a massage or at least a phone message from my first love.
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