Our bartender we call the dean;
there is some… discrepancy about who’d come up with that.
The statue of a lion stands on the far left end of the counter;
its bronze body has been spattered upon and his fangs
have, over the years, crumpled to blunt chunks.
Some king: reduced to a toothless whore.
What unicorn swapped the woods for the streets?
None, that I can remember. Just people.
Like an invester I pour my Money into liquor; at least that way…
At least that way I can lead myself to believe
I care nothing about this world with her inflamed core and dust-covered
subjects.

I do not fit in with the regulars.
My upbringing had taken place in the comfort of a warm home,
where an altruistic womb had taught me never to fuck
someone/something from behind.
I am a baby, dressed like a man.
I have no ‘real’ reasons, as the people at the table in the corner
or the ones at the window,
would like to call it.
But then why do I drink out of this bourbon filled glass that never
shows its tail?
My body was a flawed one from the start.
They have the same problem, I admit.
But theirs is own craftsmanship.

I am busy hitting rock bottom. My knees
have to be dripping and my elbows…
I am consumed with trying to belong somewhere.
Seeing the scenery I have chosen to be a member of,
it must be clear to al, that I am
an idle sonuvabitch without any proper desires.
May God forgive me.