whores with their theories
of kilometers and disease
played and provided
when stiffed
they distanced themselves
from negotiated hands
they rolled me over
for no more reason
than an unmoving beer
wastelands opportunities
depended on bus tickets
ground into pockets
hands travelling across eye sockets
empty beer bottles
the bartenders escaping
that complicit city of love and procreation
with their old devices of dead wars
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