FIRE
When the kettlemouse comes to
Harbinger's Falls, I've decided I
won't be there. At all. Left on the
twelve-twenty train, carrying a
valise and a bottle of pain. Hootch
made by hand in a basement drain.
We've got fire-in-a-bottle, and it'll
knock you now for a well-deserved
loop. Bowl you over like fire-in-soup.
Scratch the top of this table with its
its small fingers of flame : you'll forget
everything. You won't know your name.
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