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BD Rohrer Jan 2018
the bartender watches
he looks with no surprise
i reside in this place
another buzzing of the bar fly
jukebox plays classic rock hits
and the men play poker
neon signs flash the phrase
welcome to nowhere

sifting through pages
reminisce at what was
playing piano
singing
but with a hum
i play this song
some call a lullaby
i smoke my cigarette
drink from my glass
in an attempt to forget
about the past
Dakota J Dawson Jan 2018
Cultivating jealousy next to a gay man
Not for everyone
But just right for some

Tons of gossip
Lots of lip
Twisting of tongues

I the square of reality
Phone in hand
Stella at the ready

Fitness girl texted me
Says she is sick
Possibly dying

I don't care
She is number three
Or four

I offer a drink
Celebratory waffles
But to no avail

Church was given
I needed the sin
And received a gun

It had my name on it
With a wet rose
The color solid gold

The texture was cheap
Made in China
Sold to a sucker

I sit spinning and wondering
A question is asked
Does 2018 seem like a refresher?

My reply
In a solemn voice, wicked glance
Hell no
Cné Dec 2017
From below
Desire climbs
Up the channels
Of my mind
Shot of whiskey
Glass of wine
Now the ladies
Are looking fine
From the top
Going down
Love strikes fast
When I'm around

From within
My idle mind
Sparks a flame
Of desire design
A shot of whiskey
A glass of wine
Now all the men
Are lookin fine
A little flirt
A little smile
I think I’ll stay
A little while
....

Traveler Tim
& Cné
Josh Nov 2017
"Dreams are foreign and uncomfortable. The common dreamworld never quite mimics life in its truest form."

I flew over snowy mountain peaks on my way to Amsterdam, dreaming of existing in my truest form. My layover in Reykjavik was only three hours long, & I was traveling alone. Three hours is just enough time to worry about getting lost & I pondered what it would be like to let go.

My trip would take me to Amsterdam, then London. I would find myself in Amsterdam again by day 10. I chose to ignore the loneliness by drinking a pint of Belgian beer in a bar that was much too small and enveloped in tobacco smoke.

On my way to the bathroom I spotted a cat prowling the floor like he was hunting for a bird. He was out of place, yet here he was in his truest form. Forever hunting for a bird that was nowhere to be found.
Laurel Leaves Oct 2017
So anyway
the world seems to fit this specific rotation
where I found myself sitting on this bar stool
ordering
well you know,
not alcohol because,
that one thing my body does so well
is shut down
start peeing blood
not process anything
it just kind of gives up,
constantly,
I mean you remember,
that time you took me to the ER,
How I couldn't stand up and they kept telling me it was going to be ok
but I just looked at you and bleakly smiled because I knew it wasn't
this is my
slow decline
incredibly painful,
younameit

so,

clearing my throat and saying
"just put some fizzy water in a glass and throw a lime in it, it's not that hard and don't look at me like that"


The dive bar
God, it was your dive bar
they were even playing that one song you
played for me on the car stereo
the happy one,
the one I always picture you driving with your one hand on the steering wheel
sun shining on us
that ******* one
and the bartender she rolled her eyes, walked off


I saw this reflection in the mirror
the one right behind the bar
while the neon red light
illuminated my eyes
in that moment
this whiskey taste hit the back of my throat
your sweat, your voice,
all of it, taking over my entity
without my consent I was stuck in
the notes that stung
tickled my tonsils
I could feel you
I swear
you had to have been sitting in this exact spot
an hour or so ago
and the reflection was so used to
you filling this space
it almost just shot an image back of you
at me

I wanted to call you
write you
send you one of those long emails
we used to spend hours typing to each other
to seem profound
to rationalize our mental health by simply stating
"well,
we're writers"
but then I remembered the last thing you said to me
it was more of a question
and I thought about
how selfish that was
"can
we
still..?"
the anger just bubbled from there

it rose to my chest
and I lifted my hand up and said
"actually can you make it a whiskey?"
"a double?

..?"
and I waited for her to roll her eyes again,
walk to the bar,
grab the cheapest well whiskey I've ever seen
and pour it heavy over two ice cubes


You would have liked that.
Im sure you're ordering that right now.

I pulled the shot back
waited for it to hit
quickly requested a Lyft to the nearest hospital

because I knew
in
ten minutes
it would
send me spiraling
and I would be there again
in that same room
where you laid still
and I tried to sleep
to not ***** on you
to kind of just pretend this wasn't a memory
I'd have to actively force myself to forget
as I frequented the same sterile supplies
day in
day out


the room where you chewed on the words
and spit them back out at me
detailing the world I actively live in
the one where
where my body is a ticking time bomb
and not a subplot for your novel

but as I rode with the windows rolled down

I still missed you
I hated myself
I wanted another whiskey
I wanted that reflection again
because at least


that would make this all
feel closer
This would all make a little more sense
and maybe I could forgive you
forgive myself
stop recreating each moment
like I was stuck in a perpetual hell
Because it had to have meant something
it shouldn't just sting.
*******.
Henry Koskoff Oct 2017
i open my eyes and realize that its about the same as closing my eyes, because the hotel room is pitch black except for two little red dots gleaming from the dvd player or something. i think about when you came back from the bathroom, arriving at the table with a smirk on your face, because you thought you were so slick and sly when really you looked stupid because your lipstick was smudged, and when i told you, you wiped it off and said i must have accidentally wiped my face, which was the dumbest possible excuse, because if that had actually happened, you would have probably been looking in the mirror and been able to fix it before you returned, and i knew this, and cora knew this, and you knew that we knew it, and so your expression changed rapidly, and you looked so ******* pathetic, and the whole thing was so humiliating. the room is getting more clear, and everything is covered by this navy haze, and i can barely make out the dark edges of, well, i don't know exactly what, but the one thing i can see for sure is the glossy highlights of the small bottles of tequila and ***** and beer that are resting on the minibar. then i think of when you first left the table, and you said i need to go to the bathroom, and then greg went too, like five minutes later, and cora and i shared an awkward glance, because we knew that this was a plan you two had set up, so that you could meet up and make out or even ****, and so we were silent for a long time and then we would bring up the bad service once in a while and say we were hungry, when really we just wanted to not be alone together and having to look at each other while you guys were making out or probably ******* at this point in the bathroom, and then the food came and we just looked down at it because we had nothing else to say. and now the room is much much clearer, and the hue is a much lighter blue, and i can make out distinct shapes like the tv monitor and the windows and curtains and the desk and i can even sorta see the labels of the bottles on the minibar. it was again like five minutes after you had come back, and the whole lipstick fiasco had happened, that greg came back, according to your plan, and by that time we were all looking down at our food, and i had the mushroom risotto, and cora had the halibut, and you and greg both had the rack of lamb, but greg wasn't looking down at his food, because he thought that no one knew, and he had that same stupid smirk on his face, because he was probably thinking of how good and hard he had just ****** you, and all i could think of was how much of a fool you made me look, and how i should say something biting under my breath at the table, or on the car ride home, but i never did. and now i still have the urge to get my payback, but you're asleep and you probably wouldn't hear, and what's the point anyway, and the room is so grotesquely clear, and it's as if it's the bright of day, and i can make out every little detail on the wallpaper and the carpet and the stupid wall artwork and that ******* minibar, and i don't have the strength to cry or even get angry, and my whole body just feels sweaty and numb under these hot sheets, and i just want to end this feeling, and so the two red dots are the last thing i focus on before i close my eyes.
aurora kastanias Oct 2017
The bold cupola at his summit reflects
neon lights from bulbs above, crowned
by precious thin silver hair, barely cascading
over a wide and wrinkled forehead.

Two dense detached bushy arches linger
to their original dark brown tone, only a few
white brow hairs are longer, magnified by opaque
thick lenses of plastic orange glasses,

resting on a disproportionately big red nose,
outshining round green eyes in venous sclera.
Falling cheeks of sad old dogs, Dumbo ears
hearing only through pale hi-tech gadgets.

Rotten teeth, some lost to empty spaces,
concealed by infolded arid purple lips,
in the midst of an unshaved beard tobacco
stains, where arch crumbs hide in disguise.

A bloated stomach denotes long lasting
faithfulness to a wife married ages before,
a ring castrating a swollen left annular
as he speaks on an archaic phone.

Dressed in an azure shirt meticulously
ironed, beige corduroy trousers, a maroon
jacket on his forearm, a worn out bowler hat
on the counter. I stare at his hunchback.

He stirs his coffee for much longer
than necessary in search of eye contact,
someone physical to talk to, furtively
swallowing a tablet or two gulping water.

Bringing his handkerchief to the mouth to be
proper, he drinks the boiling hot Italian brew,
with an air of surrender as drops inevitably fall
on his nice and shiny polished burgundy shoes.
On random portraits
Bryan Oct 2017
Chances gambled.
Seconds ticked.
Across the room,
Eyeballs flick.
Paths intersect,
Feet move quick.
Hi, I'm guy,
And your name's chick!
You have ****,
And I've a ****!
Let's get together,
And see what fits...
Throw *** at each other,
And see what sticks,
Share gasps together,
And then feel sick.
Ron Gavalik Oct 2017
In front of the bar
a thin guy in an oil-stained t-shirt
pulled out a pack of cheap cigarettes
from his front jeans pocket.
"You got a light, buddy?"
I pulled out my black Zippo.
He turned his pack upside down
and a single gold coin fell into his palm
along with a half-smoked cigarette.
"What's with the coin?"
"I always carry it," he said.
"If I drop dead,
I want the ******* who finds me
to have a good day."
A moment.
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