One too many from the looking glass
by Darius Ajai Frasure
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Again, I sit
back toward reflection
lead-weighted pillow and jazz
mourning the lost life
and forsake flight
Breaths fog and echo
beating against this chamber chalice
that once contained the skeleton
of memory intuition
just a shadow how shallow
the deep end bottom of this glass
shot of piss and maple
and oak aged to perfection This drink
and I no longer in our fermenting
skins or presses
or caskets
We are costly now
smooth
aired-out and bitter
in the end
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