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Infatuation vs. Entropy
by Amber Leffler

You watch my will disintegrate
as fast as public lives
of tabloid stars that sniff up
hasty coke along the road
to rehabs far more fabulous
than the house that I
sweat rent for, and I let
you smash the smoking
cigarette of your whole self
into the crowded ashtray
of my sentiment because
why not, why not when I paint
myself with lipstick trickery
into a total whore for love
that's still not smart enough
to turn down IOUs. I am still
high-booted on the corner that
connects the shin bone to the
something else, and the wet spot
of the heart to the intersecting
pipe of gutter as you tug, unravelling
my sleeves of glitzy dresses
that seemed, like other bad ideas,
so glamorous, and just so briefly
lit with sparkles I'd once thought
would not rub off this easy.

Amber also writes under the pseudonym Starlite Motel.

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