Avenue A
Valuable still, the near fallen star found upright in a dark stair well inquiring into a lost wannabe’s shared sweet poisons by pin pointed dispensed pricks to flesh. She's young, hardened, yet nowhere near two collapsed veins like him at thirty. No selfies, he tells she of no last known address. At a quarter to three, where both inject realism away, him paying for hers while the limo driver checks the box scores in a distorted pause until the star walks out and she shakily says goodbye, counting cash.. He heads to the show, walking on clouds, feeling perfect almost. Getting in Line Trouble arrives apparent to others as a glass house whose glare blinds others in the fragile unrequited love of the obsessed, left to tilt towards crime or suicide in novel form an epilogue to tranquil indecision when, from a distance, she conforms her beauty to stranger’s eyes, leering like jungle inhabitants at their supposed capture while you take the last place in her chorus line of admirers and offer something transparent as a greeting with sensual undertones stuck in your throat like an arrow Cupid misses for fun. You watch her walk away as fine as any movie starlet you have pictures of, who romance with is just as unreal. The dude she left with, a one-night fling, so you’re sure you’re closer now to the front of her line or vision even a fool might luck into. After She Leaves Mosquito sized thoughts of revenge return to sting and prick until rage subsides sooner than and he finds a peace hidden like a spider in the corner laughing, moving forward to take its bite and he smiles unafraid of death as days pass like spirits at a seance. Soon finding he's outside invisible pain or its surrogates. He starts to pray and pray again that she won’t ever come back, and leaves him to this peace or anything like it. That any man unhappily married ten years deserves. Poetry Showcase from Rp Verlaine
Fevers of the Mind 
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