Her guitar was the voice comfortable.

On her forearm a tattoo faded into shadows.

Wishing and dreams wash through her

fingers.  Gold rings tap a checkered

table cloth.  The band playing behind her

feeds the air into the song.  Stage lights steam

away past loves and promises.  Her chances

of breaking out push against the fences of

her fixed boundaries.  The damage of standing

still encourages the passion within to

play out.


She smiles at the drummer; fast hands battle

the beats.  She knows he’s a moustache with

no place to go.


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