Phone Rings Once, Cuts Short

Lump in the throat, hot
energy, more than bright
coffee running cold

between fingertips–
Something stirring, lost
nostalgia in a humid

memory of him,
now dispersed patches
of fuzz-droned noise.

Time isn’t suspended
but doesn’t feel
as tangible as a vision

of your blue eyes
crushed under a junkie’s
dream–Adios, mi amigo…
Pull another drag

against the wind,
concrete painted white
cracking against the days

without pressuring sun
beams, far dreams and time
un asesino lento.


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