he's got sharpened nerves, although
he says he doesn't care much for logic.
his eyes distant and gazing and passing but whole-
similar color to the beer bottle he grasps in his left hand.
tighter than his grasp on the past, tighter than he remembered
says "God drives a dodge ram
he's the one who winks precariously when you walk by,
most days you pay little attention to, most days
you have little intention of meeting"
his veins real, they were the rivers studied and memorized
in geography in years past
he says "there's no use in loving shattered glass and broken memories and melted down candles."
"she said she loved me."
his knuckles fade to pale and white, bartender looks at me,
i look at him, quick exchange of glances as he mutters "Sir...."
his eyes a little more distant and detached than before,
he apologizes for his varying volume levels,
says "liquor used to subdue the pain. not intensify it"
tells me i'm interesting, tells me no one sticks around this long, why listen to the ashes of other hearts in the room?
tells me his wife used to have hair long like mine
his eyes fixed on the alcohol he's holding
swirls it around- looking for the answer somewhere
in the depths of his conversant bottle,
drinks it like water, creases and crinkles between the skin around his eyes tell me how long he's really been here
tells the bartender he's been alcoholic for twenty-some-odd years,
but he's never known what a happy hour felt like, says he never will.
tells me to stay in school, says he extinguished his potential like the fire did his home, crushed his future like his last five beer cans, couldn't care less
but he does.
there's wires under his skin and he's all broken radios,
says he meant to fix it a few years ago, says he never did
tells me she had a voice like a bar fight, like an open window during
the storm-
nothing was quite the same afterwards