The Bar

drink
the dregs are sitting at the bar
holding the foamy scum
total of life
grunting against polished wood

lonely struggling spirits
who did you ever meet at a bar
worth the pay
they return to drink
because drink
is faithful
it moves things
quietly pouring itself out
gently levitating tiny bubbles
pushing the soul
pulling the numbing senses
before they disappear

funny
there is nothing here that moves
crowded empty place
stark bleak illusions on each face
damn this stubborn sickly block
against time
fatal obstuction of the mind

slid to the end of the bar
leverage against life
the fulcrum
in my hand

12/22/97