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.