trench warfare, v1

here we are again,
alone with the screaming
whiskey baby — a thousand miles
gone, flies speak a single tongue
every tongue — a pretty girl
walks across the amber bar
she will not hear it, she must
not hear it; please
dug into the earth’s narrow vein
she sounds like rain, a spark
filling lungs, one last dark sip
back against the dark bar.

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