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An Ultraviolet Waltz

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She died on the roof where it was sunny, honey,

From the backlash of the heatstroke in the crossfire

While Wilson ached about tender women and liars

*

It’s said that detectives were pursuing the moon –

Dusting for fingerprints on soul and silver linings

And finding clues inside the grooves of doo-wop tunes

*

She died on the roof to the Vandellas looking

Down on the switchblade dances in the mean streets

Nothing fazed that little marvelette, that supreme

*

So in her mind she flied when the stars aligned

Her bread and wine she swapped for cream and whiskey

To find a sky of new moons in a waltz of words

*

Ascending above the backstabbings and bribings

We’ll dance and we’ll die high above the ceiling

Eventually, definitely, incandescently

 *

But only when it’s sunny, honey.

 

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