The Remnant: Slow Death And Drunken Prose From Triskels Pub

You shouldn´t scare people  who might buy your books  when there´s an angle to sell.  Reading from the notebook  is redundant, and it´s s**t  but the poems are yours  to read however you want.     The audience  will always  go for another drink       when the word poetry            rolls off your lips                 echoing in the microphone.  It´s not their fault,  they´ve been trained  to be afraid       so pummel them further            with brutal body shots                 pounding their breath out  until they walk off  with the rest  of the cannon fodder.                      -jb        I drink with John Bouse every three months.  His metaphysics are getting harder to comprehend  the more his shoulders slump into isolation and denial.     He is  a con artist  a fake  and an angel            underneath the bags on his face            he avoids eye contact with.     "I have what he had"  or so he says     John is broken, like the rest of us  but he doesn´t pretend to be anything.  At the last call  I´ll abandon him at the stool     just like he wants.