Going Places

Late night drinks

With ducks in the background,

Chirping out their lungs.

New friends acquanting again.

Talk is cheap, but going places.

Another drink, I take a beer-

Sip down what the worries carry,

Down to the depths of where nonsense goes.

Fold the apron into my purse,

Spit chatter till my innards bleed-

Bleed out the truths kept hidden,

Hidden, waiting to be set free.

Should I project the usual tantrum:

Of roses being red,

And violets their deepened blue-

Darkened by the vague layer of what should be said,

But misconstrued.

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