I was thinking if ever I went to Bethlehem for Christmas
Then Bethlehem would have had two Stars
I'd be there shining mightily like I do
And all the people, they'd suddenly say from afar
Look! Look yonder...yonder lies a Star
There's another Star, another Star in Bethlehem
Look! He's in there drinking, drinking at the bar
He's just having... just having himself a jar
The Other Star...the Other Star of Bethlehem.

And then they'd all gather around me excited saying
You're the Other Star, the Other Star of Bethlehem
And I'd say "I'm the what, the Other, the Other Star of Bethlehem
Well that ain't exactly very flattering
Maybe I don't want to be 'the Other Star'".
So I'd think for a second
"Why not call me instead, call me... the Czar, the Czar of Bethlehem
Then the Star could be the Star again
And me! I could be the Czar
The Czar of Bethlehem".

Wow!! they all said in unison,
You're the Czar, you're not the Star
You're the Czar
The Czar of Bethlehem.

Reading at the bar
Drinking at the library
         —Henry Chinaski

A billiard table imprints its damp shadow
on a yellow wooden floor. The game still
unbegun, mere fragment of the sorrow
felt by the patrons whose wilted heads will
still be here tomorrow, if tomorrow comes.
Red walls distended by burning lamps
and burned out hearts beating blood through ear drums:
Reverie to the night god /   Dreaming tramps
drowning in their heads in lakes of absinthe
color of the ceiling better than being
awake but indefinitely absent.
The lamps blink, eyes floating, speak all-seeing:
Vincent, let us meet before you entreat
the crows out of your head into the wheat.

A little grey.

Why.
Don't shut it out.
If feels of eternity.
Again n again.
The grooves.
From the hips.
Left still.
In vigorous thought.
Around the eyes.
Around it all.


Garrett Johnson.

5 dollars for the beer
And 5 for your sadness
Could have been something
But the light went out
Dust collecting to the right
It could have been dynamite
Champion of the come and unwind
Instead in creeps what the devil may find
Dreams don’t live here
Only remnants of better days
And the crackle of desperation
So 5 dollars for the beer
And 5 for your sadness
The least I can do.
Before moving on to the next spot.

This once I dreamed about
a rainy day in Paris,
when I saw you out of the blue
nailing the business grey,
I subtly walked across the bridge
hoping to run into you which is
exactly what I did,
sorry for the coffee spill
one can't possibly be allowed to
look that good in business grey.
With all the catching up to do,
towards a café near the tower
we made our way.
Amidst the anecodets
and the laughs,
time passed and the café
now turned into a bar,
not wanting the day to end
deep down I'd slowly pray.
Now it was midnight
silence echoing in the streets
and then came the two,
completely wasted,
wandering around and giggling away,
stopped by a bridge when you asked me
"who knew we'd meet again like this."
I replied "I knew... I knew
all along the way.",
everything that followed after this was
consequential to the beauty in this day,
That's when I woke up,
adding another one to the list of
dreams I hope turn into reality someday.

In life I have found that
Whiskey sours and old fashioneds
Will always be my greatest vice
As well as my closest confidant

The glass hits my lips
And within the next ten minutes
I am no longer compelled
To pick my cuticles

I no longer feel the wrath
Of anxiety’s unseen brush burn
Or depression’s mighty choke hold
For once, I can breathe easy

Every fleeting thought of total apprehension
Is replaced by feelings of contentment and bliss
But soon, my eyes become glassy
While my body grows weary

And I descend into a deep slumber
Slowly sinking into the barstool
With my head on the counter
In a blue collar town

it's cold in here
red frost, cowboys are shivering
worn-out guys

smoky faces
loners
dancing on puddles

slippery floor of memories
posters of dead ghosts on the walls
mirrors don't reflect the cowboys

their shadows are transparent
the piano man takes them on a journey
24/7