her pock-marked face
floats up the stairwell
rising from an empty bus-stop
he's trying to destroy
himself
in some far-off place
an anonymous city
lies of bought love
her small breasts
in an afternoon's
mirror
a vision like pomegranates
and her neck-- a white crane
in the light of a vacating sun
she takes his un-buttoned shirt
covers her own corpse
and walks down the hall to take a piss
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