Insides

An overdrawn energy account
Lives at the dive bar at the pit of me
Smoking cigarillos and ashing in the pretzel bowl
burning baseballs in its retinas by staring white noise
at the shock of flourescent over the pool table
making unwisecracks to an unamused,
busily busty bartender.
taking stumbly craps in bathroom stalls
with broken door locks
and halfhearted, miserable graffiti,
etched in lead as if meant or meaningful
by men with hearts lost,
spiritually displaced,
misplaced long ago
despite their toy box houses on overcast streets
they are homeless.
They feel wind even in stillness.

Man
just one glass of wine
and I'd feel like at least
a couple crumpled bucks.

Reviews

[. serah .]

-- riveting stuff... with a very powerful and compelling closing... -- perhaps people who spend most of their time inside bars are indeed homeless...