Friday, March 29, 2024

GLASSON BAR

Photo via stainexpert.blogspot.ca

St. Sunday becomes the bloom of my eye;

we follow on highs and smoky nights,

in bars, the sidewalk, the silver rain.

 

Then again, I help myself to the vanities, the proof–

I’ve wasted my time trailing coffee rings

and muddled bassoons.

 

Three blockades present themselves, the golden three:

the taken, the departed,

and the not-yet-arrived.

 

Faceless, I encourage the red stains further.

She whispers:

“Incomplete hours. Another.”

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