Shall We Dance?

For Steve and Colin

We three who sit in a tattered, sprung black
booth on the non-music side
ask

ourselves this. The confusion—
liver or lives, ecstasy
from a handful of pills or arms

dropping
from an invisible burden. It would kill
off two, would leave

the third alone

to hold the hollows
of an answer together
with her own hug

she wraps around herself.

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