Wednesday, January 13, 2016


Your big globes of colored water are standing
in your window like sentinel soldiers staring
back  - the blues and the grays indeed. I don't
know what it means, nor am I in any need.
Just nice to see the old  - reliquary of certainty,
doctor's closet of doubt and doom?
The chemist near here chides me for drinking.
He says the bloom will flutter through my system
and strike me dead someday. I nod, 'OK', now
send me another shot of something. He says he's
not a chemist and cut that out. 'I serve you drinks,
and that is all, you drunk.'
Some girls at the other section are laughing : jeez
I like that stuff. I wish I was twenty-three again, and
rough. I'm pretty sick of being this sot who can't walk
straight. My life's a waste and a brokered convention
of losers. So, ladies, here I be! Come see me!
I'll find some cash to throw down on the bar. If I
can find anything in here : keys, loose change, that
shell for Cankston Beach, the little screw which
fell from off my barstool. Oh, jeepers, I'm falling
again. Now everything's going down.

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