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She Likes the Blues Singer

mutant love call
culling from sweat-blackened
wound tight & fluttering in

we dine with ranting mystics
holistic wannabes
swizzled in by the sax
& neon tied harp player
as our work sucks
behind to pleasure’s
she likes the blues singer
making new revelations tonight
she’s got her pocket apocalypse reader
                (the Nihilist version)
earmarked to the page
where the meek actually die with the earth
but tonight it all sounds unprophetic
like CliffsNotes to a Nostradamus final
as the blue notes that drip
off the clef & bend all psychic digging
to hit that low E, she’s melting
soul & soul recovered

yes, the peppered optimist
done with greed & venom, momentarily
she’s a remedy for the nauseated dilettante

so she puts her book away

the world won’t end
just yet

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