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Pissed, the
lounge
singer with the
holey liver slurred
I was going to sing
a song about
a whore
and
a killer
but I can’t
remember the
words so
instead I will give
you
some advice
my grandma
gave me
she said
fear the living
not the
dead.
Then
the audience clapped
and heckled at the
same time
which barely
cut through the thick sweat
of
slime atop his
head. He stood
there stunned
while the stage lamps
ate into his very soul
and then he said
goodnight to you all
bye bye farewell
The mirrors at the
back of the thin
brick club gave way
after he
threw
his drained
beer glass hard.
Then
security
pushed him
outside
onto the grass.
He slept sound still,
pockets picked void
until morning a street
cleaner
asked
what do you do, are you a
funnyman?
to which the singer
sighed
sometimes
he lied
then went
back to
sleep.
Somewhere
he is
still
singing,
not dead or
alive.

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