by Lisa Cole
Sneaking wine coolers
And beer cans
Into the theatre
After a day of sobbing into a pillow.
Stifling screams, dreams, seams splitting.
Seems to be a habit, this.
The bird
Preens
Herself.
So, the truth,
the theatre: black, clandestine
Guzzle drinking cold.
And she goes.
Would rather be back in dressing rooms,
The closet, the bedrooms, door frames, showers,
Kama Sutra
De-
Lusions.
But instead, flashing lights, pictures
un-
Familiar voices, stained seats,
Moving, moving.
More darkness, darkness.
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