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Postmodern Village
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Paranoia
by Anthony Liccione

I have taken four sleeping pills
and two shots of Tequila and
half a bottle of white wine and
still, I could see her face-
projected on the big screen
of my mind,
lights, camera and no action-
so I quickly down two ice cold
beers and get a brain-freeze,
coming back to feeling fine;

thinking to myself even in suicide
I could fuck everything up.
By this time the crickets are
a point of view out here
in my backyard,
how they line up their
chirps against the still
night,
and when I draw myself
in to them with footsteps
they shut down,
when I back away,
they go return to mingling
under their forewings,
calling me an idiot.