HER REFLECTION in the Bijou Café is decorated with darts.
Some are economic stimulus tranquilizer darts.
Some are smoke stuck in the garden rake darts.
Some are Switzerland is an illusion darts.
Some are about all I can do now is "honk" and breathe in the fumes darts.
Some are a carefully planned vegetarian meal darts.
Her real eyes are blue roses in a bomb rack
10,000 feet above Mississippi.
I’m so angry with you, little table, she says,
You have let me cry in public again.
With music going over the moon like a picnic horseshoe
She ends up on the No Fly List.
Cha, cha, cha, no matter what time it is.
I guess I might have touched her thigh.
What did you say, she replies to everything.
Her past is interesting, and futuristic.
She was once found stabbing at a dry animal skin
That was putting down roots in the last arable land of a dream.
But her best voice is like frayed elbows on a country western bar.
I listen with my left foot.

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