She was dancing like something that twists (Michael)

L.I. Henley

when it burns. Iron, titanium.

She turned colors. She oxidized a pole

when she wrapped herself around it.

I was three shots in and just getting started.

The bouncer was heading for her

but I stopped him, said she was my neighbor

and I’d get her home safe.

We went behind the club and played

with matches, lit some steel wool a cook

had thrown out with the garbage, melted the mouth

of a juice jug until we smelled almonds,

hallucinated a dry lake bed

studded with burning horses.


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