She unlocks her door. Turns on the lights. Takes off her dress. Night is the junkie of dark coffee, of the blue art and sleeplessness, a red eye stirred by moonlight, by heated conversation till dawn. Songs change. Musicians change. Who can put a price on it? We live in a body for years we thought we owned only to discover we were renting it. Nothing is guaranteed. Her last will and testament will likely be written on a postcard from Disneyland.
Scott Malbys poetry has been published in various
international literary magazines and ezines in England, Germany, US
and Latin America. He lives on the Oregon coast and is also a playwright
and columnist.
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