real with quiet blue

she is good on phone
in long dark rooms.
the work is in her spare time
underground darkly --
this still leaves very little room
for the new is old for the old,
terribleness of evil begins to
live in the bottom
of her beer bottle.

for christ's sake! that's all there is.
more hell that doesn't work
fears, real, glued with quiet blue
and grey and green
dank screeching dementia.
waste of the city -
a machine a kind of black cave
of my mind and then drunk on
the other side.