poetry critical

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he paced and wound along
the bar traced the track
unwinding closer
calmly clicked his heels
to seconds tapped the bottle's butt
on counter
why yes, i will have more
steeling stern i pled
for nothing braced for hands
unsheathing close
unthreading thoughts of unlaced
slips of fingers placed
with legs astride and
strung to feel around
my back of lines laid low
the ground
of needle pricking cloth
a racing heart a
knotted stomach wove
me toward the door.

9 Oct 17

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