bar stools swivel so we may see everything
loving-kindness sits over there.
the beauty hungry, as joe, the regular,
his gone teeth and twinkling eyes upon the bible.
the sally by the juke
without speech says
tony, the dispenser,
mixing his blood in our drinks,
tickles my maw.
as it says in The Playbill, he is the Generous,
no shutups to my liquid, gem-stained words.
old sads have worn the stools down before us,
so spirits of the place, they've humused the hearts,
they've maudlined to dim the antiquated heaven light.
Quiet endings fall to sleep upon their Spills until the Time.
the restless ones stay, swallow fathers livers,
insculpture futures the Same as it ever was,
this marble bobbing adams apple.
we piss out malign, we weave in mirrors,
this Laughter bleeds in time. the
Days upon the years offer a reflection,
remorse battles down the eyelids,
which want the Sleep.
the Bar Television turns mirror,
we flee down our wells,
the sun plays
off the poisoned bottom,
miraging a tender,
a songful moon of borrowed light,
a life brimmed in if onlys.
t. j. m. 1/97