in the bars
the dark and quiet bars
i can sit there drinking in the soft glow
of sixty watt bulbs
******* into ancient fixtures
and the bartenders will at least
tolerate me
so long as i don't fall
or drift to sleep
or scream
horrors
and such
and the bartenders will at best
be nice to me
and fill my glass
with whiskey
and maybe the ones
who are pretty girls
will smile at me
the smile of pity you would give
to a dog
or to me
or to a person who honestly
needs it
and is so unworthy
of it
in the bars
perched up on my stool
i am elevated
elevated above the horrible dirt
of the earth
the dirt i walk on
sleep on
dream of escaping
the dirt i am a part of
covered in
almost indistinguishable from
in the bars i am the god king
of the world i create
for and from myself
with the two square feet of bar-top
that is mine
and so long as i have money
and don't look too drunk
i can read for hours
in what light i can find
and not have to speak to anyone
or look at anyone
except the bartender
who wishes to trade no more words
with me
than necessary to order a drink
and most times
i wish
the same