Sabotaged Grace: For the Replacements

The regulars were a no show.

So here we are, hairy, ragged,

piss-stained racket-makers,

full of too much Old Milwaukee

& taciturn Minnesota winters.

Invite us into your ears, your heart.

You can’t evict us, we’ll just camp

on the roof outside your sister’s

window, playing unsteady ballads.

Have you looked in on her lately?

Pain nests in her bones, in her

dilated pupils. Hell, maybe it takes

fuck-ups to recognize another fuck-up,

to offer grace that would self-sabotage

if it knew how beautiful it was.

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