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The Futility of Saloons

Still in this vinegar sea

slanted into poisonous pronouns

grappling with the next ball of pleasure…

so much is riding on this

risk of life

this little vessel of intention.

Did you not say

that you would live forever?

Maybe I misunderstood…

maybe you meant that

you forgot you were going to die.

Skipping down memory lane

backed up into a drain clogged with dismal musings

and old thrown away beliefs

forgetting, forgetting,

all is forgotten and you do not matter.

Flesh and newly made smiles

adorn my little doorway

to the innermost.

Cobwebs left by careless spiders

and grey balls of mindless dust

attest to my supreme indifference.

The wheels turn and the pumps pump

the machine heaves and wheezes

out a smelly and sticky little metaphor

chewed over by a crippled eye.

I’m grabbing at the little straws again,

and pulling into a golden certainty,

which is my favorite illusion.

So it is with the stabbing thoughts

and the thoughtless stabs.

Stand up and give three cheers

for the mighty one.

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