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She wore her hair that way that day as stealing breezy thoughts became hands-up gestures and there coughed a fish crow in the shedding cornrows while Alfred puzzled his eyes and disrupted dying weed stalks in trails of sober recollections with a harrowing drip towards slender sleek trembling over fits and under dresses for the Bates was empty that day but for the scathing scold of windy desertion and a more up than coming hurl of get-or-be-gone by the taxidermist’s last light go all small animals to poachers hell and we get the difference in swapped towels and Buicks dropped into the drink for keeps until the rooms are all let to drifters and private dicks who’d rather not step in the shower for now and eat their supper in bed after bad timing strolls beady eyed and calm without dragging a foot at all until the sun marries night to morning in the shift-change lull of newer endings and chasings of conscience that berate and extol in bated screams and spit compliments in a rocking-chair bound recess of sacred space into or out of touch with dimmer lights and clomps up the stairs just to serve and stay selfless under spells of dank rot and colder to the touch than ever because her pompadour served up listlessness and spooked the windows to rattle as an opalescence-tinged posture’s tilt kept rising forbidden hungers in the Other-starved gut and a ring made from bone coruscated and sang for dread that fled pearled to macabre-flecked stones that won’t listen as she just holds ground and wishes it all away so hold your hands high Alfred this psychotic terror will not plunge on without you around to boss it around or watch the blood trickle clockwise down the drain but mother croaks in shrill cries and still can think of better things to pass on and peer steely through as the money escapes and all of your cheap hotel-room gestures take grim paramours out to one last dance through the morose mud and dark chambers of being lost in the final whispers of a triumphant whistle past or just up above and over the grave.

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