phlebotomy essentials

by Steven J. Serafiani

When the steamed milk tint evaporated
making an outline of holiness; there
was a smart dress of brainless that
flowed

like

a simmering pot of whatever or I don’t
care. look back into that dim
sunny day of youth and cry. As a man

I

don’t cry, I heave out of my eyes with
the force of a drunkard in the
midst of
bottomless wild turkey- to be
wild and grim. See that autumn
lull over there by the statue
of unwrinkled bronze? I don’t. One

rolls wide to the left, only an earlobe
and a few strands of hair feel
the effect. the cracked out
smudges of magazine
ink pelt- Remember seventeen?

I don’t.

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