The Drunk Downstairs

‘Hello there darling’,

 her voice quivers. 

Tragic she may seem, 

floating half above us, 

her mind a balloon 

on the corner of the room. 

A decoupée angel, 

she is, on the wall, 

She promenades, 

goose-feather and willow wisp. 

Stuck, she is, 

all shimmer and no lights. 

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