the precipitation slowly turned
a city’s imperfections
into translucent trampolines.
umbrellas, rain, and neon lights
glimmered onerously:
a bazaar of evaporating dreams.

and in the end it all condensed
between the crooked legs
of the noxious downtown hookers
and the litigious dentistry
of the loathsome fall-down drunks.

somehow amidst all this,
Demeter sat alone
in some worn-down after-hours bar,
nursing an aged wine that the bartender
had bemusedly dusted off a shelf.

just as the rain subsided,
her loneliness transpired
and evolved into an Olympic rage.
so she scoffed at collective misfortune
and stood up to leave,
only to be groped by a man
with hands of sandpaper and piano-key teeth

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