Phobia of Phonebooks

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The glass Perrier bottle in my hands

Cold and sweaty, condensation

From the humid stinkin air

A chance encounter, an old acquaintance

I begin to wonder what I’ve done with myself

Slaying defunct deities

Enduring the poisonous posthumous wrath

The bottle slips from my hand

By the side of the road

The green glass vessel of opportunity

Time slows to show me

1000 ways to break a bottle

From countless angles

I step forward into traffic

To join the shattered

The hood absorbs my knees

But the windshield is

The last thing I see

And I am immediately sorry

I’ve ruined someone else’s day

Spider

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