— what a fascinating colloquial,

just as the harvest moon masks her dried cheeks

we strap our garters tighter as belts expand, gazing against

the cracked reflection of yester-more’s public washroom,

the sink a cesspool of flaming pits and torn-up cards:

a number, rejected by itself, flits back to the system where it is

recycled and thrown randomly at clawing hands;

and the bathroom door bolted from within, notwithstanding

the rickety pounds of those who need to go or those who were

wanting to see their perfect faces flawed — and that person desired

above all dejected present without soul outside, minding, mining,

the unimportant chatter — and we promise, promise, promise

to open just one more time, one last high staked fall,

to need, to be needed, unbolting to see the stark promise of the future:

An empty hallway, everyone peeing at the trees.


This is the 100 Songs Project, a 100-day writing challenge based on AFI’s 100 Years…100 Songs. Every day, I write a short poem, prose piece, or play based on, reacting to, rejecting, accepting, or doing something related to one of the songs in the top 100 list.

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