shot glass
"... brevity is the soul of wit ..."
- William Shakespeare

James B. Nicola

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The dollop drapes the trollop,
as the horse and leg become
the gelid whims you see before you now,

into a life self-ruined
in perpetua, one dram
of poison stilled in looking. You see how

the darkling cast of absinthe
on the oils conjures a glum
unfocusing effect upon her brow,

unwomaned as his dancers,
tutus flirting off a frame,
or bathers – one or two of whom, you know.