It is here
With my whiskey before me
With my whiskey burning holes
through my tired body
like focused sunlight
through an ant
With the red glow of the Privilege Inn sign
branding the air outside
like the devil’s horns
like baleful pokers stuck into
the taut flesh of a prisoner night
With empty tables laid up
around me, a purgatory
of upended bodies that will never
pull themselves up right
With the walls shining, the fanblades
shining, the waiter’s teeth shining,
my smoke shining
like so many angels gathered
to sing hosannas when I pass out
With time running itself out
between sips, between words
and spaces and line breaks
It is here
I find I cannot be anywhere else
It is here
I get the blues
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