Nasal pressure
Headache, bright oval windows of death light
Bad hairdos and financial statements
Sardines impatiently waiting
Caked on make up,
I used to be paid well, and pretty
Conscious poetry
Reclined five inches,
Screen snuggled under vinyl lip
Hot, stale air forced from above
Drying already irritated iris’
Bob Dylan said it best
Meet me in the morning,
56th and Wabasha
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