Another one drained.
He’s given in to a strange,
nauseating, barstool comfort again.
Stuck for a time in
this intoxicating web that drapes
a temporary escape,
soft glows the darkened faith
lost in each other.
Mouth to the rim
allows him to suspend words,
like the last chords of sanity,
motioning towards the barkeep
to drown out all that’s been
Words, their lonely passive violence,
Who else in statuary silence seeks providence?
Who else assumes a perch in frayed alienation?
Or with a weaving lurch
made for the doors of disorientation?
But its corridors lead only to the queasy,
the whitecapped and turbulent sea.
The scent of ancient memory
guiding this vessel’s noxious drone,
who else moves on sea legs alone?
Snuffed out by last call,
blinding light replaces the disco ball
as the bliss
of that candle’s last wish
All that’s left is the smoky debris
of glass and ashtray,
exit stage left
the drunken castaway.
Wallet, keys, everything was safe but escape,
starry skies show tattered shirts,
revealing skin underneath,
as if the void was within reach,
its sleeve swollen with tears,
the forlorn impression of years
in its absence.
You motion towards filling it,
spinning with unsteady ease
into these glass vortices again.