doppel’s crew

tonight is a virgin, bereft
of sensibility, aching on all walls,
the streets lined and dripping
with ochre blood.  we dance and drink
with forgotten stupor motion sick,
rubbing against the grains.

there’s a rabble, acquainted
by fire and brothers, and yet
i’m detached.  i alone view
from two, in the passage
of the breeze and circumstance,
my straight line and me.

in coma lay quiet, to peace,
my friend at my side.
he won’t scream with the party
people.  he won’t cry, another
lonely night as me, for losing
or never being enough.


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