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BASSLINE

g.a. scheinoha




She huffed and puffed
and blew my doma down,
those rotting timbers
little more
than matchsticks
beneath her palms.
Our eyes met
somewhere
above the tuba
coiled like
a large
brassy intestine
in her lap,
blowing
disemboweled notes
straight past the crowd
towards the over rapt
ears of one.

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