Thursday, 17 January 2019

outpouring

outpouring 

on the knife of night, held
in the bar door’s glowing light,
declares aloud as smoke insists,
‘let the moon be my witness!’
he said he said, 
‘didn’t i say i said?’ 
so stays the long on the
‘bid begone, goodnight’
waving around, around
the faltering footsteps
cheering long, 
following his nose
he goes,
numbly thoughtful that 
of god’s truth it is;
and in the morning
he’ll damn well tell them so.
burp giggles into the dark,
and squinting scares, but 
n’er a curtain flickers.

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