Blinking sign got us thinking
Closest bar, a nightcap drinking
We came from the Opera culture refined
Dressed to the nine, a cocktail to unwind

Blur the lines work versus play propriety
Different views, cautious words Society
Two Upper echelon bosses and wives
Innuendos, cautious, eyes Pretenses lies

The bar “Faces” pink glow On a dark street
twilight zone, Shuffle sounds of our feet
Youngest of the bunch they asked for ID
My grandchild was twenty three

Many rooms each contrary would appear
Ladies restroom are progressive here
A man in drag standing to ***
No stall door open for everyone to see

Excuse me, are you in the wrong restroom?
******* at his knees No need to assume
It’s OK ladies I’m out of here lickety-splits
As he reached in and adjusted his *******

Our head dazed each room a new theme
All proclivities observed was this a dream
Ignorant, Lisa karaoke, in women’s Area
Found the guys I tried to calm my hysteria

Men had drinks and they’re going to stay
Looking around. What’s the  deal anyway?
Bartender what type of bar is this?
Alternative lifestyle He blew me a kiss

A Woman bought me a drink, flirting,
Men’s fantasy tickled curiosity, asserting
Lisa sang her love song to the gays
Her husband listened observed and Praised

Silent when men asked our guys to dance
The luster A nuance no longer a romance
The hour grew late it was time to leave
The strange events no one would believe

Driving home reflective thoughts Traces
Why did they name that bar Faces?
An alternative lifestyle accepted us
Exactly who we were without a fuss

We Grappled with the idea, it hit me
People hide many different faces see
A secret freaky face comes out to play
Tomfoolery set free imagine a new way

A new identity exposed to the world
My freak flag revealed unfurled
The stranger within us, who we portray
What do they see? What does my face say?

Inspired song
The Stranger, by Billy Joel, 1977 live

Make money;
Make more money.
Sell yourself to this world!
This world, run by thugs;
political puppetry.
Self promote; share and gloat,
On Facebook & the ‘Gram
To get more likes,
And fuel the adrenaline spikes,
You’re a slave to this world!
Doom and gloom **** you dry,
Until there is no more.
The drugs run out,
The emptiness overwhelms me.
But, there is much more...
So much more!
If only you would turn,
From the vortex,
Rebound with your reflexes,
And rage against the machine.
You’ll need to detox,
It may take some time,
But see the light,
Don’t turn in fright,
Rest, and follow thee!

My friend asks
me where I get
the fodder for
writing my poems.
I tell him, life.
He says that's too
simple.
He isn't satisfied.
I tell him that
sometimes, I sit at
my desk and open
the window above the
litterbox, and look
outside at the
orange daylilies and
wait.

He says he writes
from a small place above
his left ear.
It tickles at times, but
often it's painful.
I nod and make a
note to call my
doctor about the
headaches I've been having.

He reads his posey at
the coffee shops while
drinking espresso and
chatting with the other
young poets in sweaters.
I tell him that I used
to live under a bridge,
I read my poems to the
savage river and the
Mallard ducks, and the
drunk friends that
wandered in for a drink of
***** or a beer.
He says the little place above
his left ear is beginning to
hurt.

I walk him to the door and
tell him goodbye.
He asks if I will come
to the coffee shop to
hear him read his poetry.
"Sure", I say, smiling blankly.
After closing the door,
I sit and smile at the view from
my window.
I can smell the freshly cut
grass, and hear the
grinding whine of the
lawnmower.
A woman across  
the street is lying in
the sun.
She's wearing a turquoise
bikini and big sunglasses.
Just then, a slight hint
of coconut wafts into my room.
I get hard and pick up the pen.