Release by David Spicer

Vodka our ambrosia, we left detox

with a photograph, non persons again.

The first thing we did? Eat Chinese food

and scar a new moral code on the other’s midriff.

She wore a beige tent dress and shawl

to our first race riot, filmed willowy enigmas

dancing on tombstones for the scrapbook.

Took naps and snored, enthralled ourselves

with the aroma of fresh sneakers.

They gave us mystic goose bumps.

We loved the glitz of showroom hunger,

kept the tape recorders on,

built an empire of oral monologues,

accused anyone susceptible to scandal.

Relentless. Offered pecans and honey

from the empire’s futon. Shielded flaws

from enemies. They tried frogmen, comas.

Graduated, we shined like beacons on the harbor,

expatriates in our own country.

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