"Sloppy Slipping"
I slipped in someone's shoes.
They slipped in mine.
Rita slipped on the ice.
I went from New York City to Valhalla with her.
I made it back home without her.
Rita, forgotten, but not gone.
I stay up all night smoking English cigarettes and dreaming about her.
She's nowhere to be found.
Except at the Kensico Cemetery.
Below the ground.
While my world spins around.
In my inner space.
By Jon Billet's -04/27/2015
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