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Last Call

Barmaids. Fixing their face. One of these jerks could be The One. The Champagne of Bottled Beer. So they say. One of these jerks. One of these days. Rotate. The stools have fresh grease. Creaky with ass. With whispers Beer Loud. The Deal is it on is it on is it on? Their pistols are dicks. Ready like snakes. Ready to strike. Upping the stakes. Tomorrow. There’s a Line-Up. And the hope that no one breaks out in a sweat. These jerks. Point at their chests like squirrels. Their memories of Last Call are just that. First published by Rat’s Ass Review

 
 
 
Auld Lang Syne

Should Truth And Justice Be Forgot. Our Wrongs Defined By Rights. Should Skin That’s Brown Get Out Of Town. Our Days Now Put On ICE. Should Bombs And Drones Be Launched By Phones. Borders. Ripped To S

 
 
 
The Last Time I Saw You

The Letter. Just When You Thought It’s Getting Better. All He’ll Miss Is How You Filled Out Your Sweater. Sacred Places Sad And Dry That He’d Made Wetter. The Letter. The Letter. Clutched In Fist. Cut

 
 
 
Bum Rap

Dapping Up The Corner. Homie In The Hood. Fixing Up His Shit With Some Plastic Wood. Starbucks For A Shower. Stay There For An Hour....

 
 
 

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Charlie Robert

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