Metal of tangy, snobby silver wraps itself around me like the lead in a bullet, and cold like wet soles. A belt that whips and tangles from my belly's button, to the dull of my hips. Charcoal that burns in dusty meat barbecues, and salty smoke up through the second story window, that bursts in clusters far above the grill. Father and friends, all in Corona dresses who drape and costume their bills and debts. The sun who rests and the eve that dusks, among trees that laugh with the lips so dirty--full of lush. They saunter and cinder--dance upward--while mother and company recluse. The wooden blind doors stay open all night, and the dogs wonder, always up. Night is warmer than day, and the width between age is infinite. Saucey lights dangle in play around the bottom of the deck, in red and orange, and yellow--casts a peach color onto the third level, where the "18-" watch. The sliding glass door that brings in the only cold during the night, stays closed, while the "18-" never sleep, always up. The night like palms that close in around them as they kick&sing, never dreaming. Movies that grace the big screen, and games that take competition in virtual teams. I rest my head, and again we tread a dangerous evening of night.
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