stood under a street lamp showering in the rain.
She used a dead pigeon as a loafer and sang inexplicable lyrics to
Passers by.
This jail bird babe lipsticked my collar.
What a roar.
Death in tights raising hairs, razing.
Sing a song of merriment and rejoice the falling of water,
A thirsty diseased tongue still sexy to the night.
Finally she fell and never rose again, burning a hole,
into the earth.
Now a grate covers her grave, through the bars one can hear
Dulcet lullabies and weeping regrets -
Save for some occasions of rapturous warnings and saintly, victorious anthems.
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