There are one hundred people-
Packed like large rats on a toy subway car-
In this hallway-of-a-bar tonight
And these makeshift chandeliers slowly sway
In time to a deep subharmonic soundtrack-
They light up these glazed dizzy eyes-
A motley bunch of strange, beautiful, and crazy
Mouths are moving, but all that can be heard is
Clinks clanks shuffling steps pouring cackling
You seem all of a sudden impatient.
"Is it me?"
Thinking, "I promise I love you babe,
I'm just more numb than usual."
Holding tight to my vice, a tinge distracted
In preparation for when the floor gives way
In fear I'll spill even a drop of this whisky
But more importantly, I begin to worry;
That perhaps beyond these dark-stained
Creaky doors, there is a world-
Where people are too careful with every step
Some world with sober fools chasing
Droll dreams in tailored suits
With tailored smiles and tailored lives
I am, for lack of a better word, afraid
That beyond these dark-stained
Creaky doors, I could be someone-
Far from Cahuenga Blvd., maybe even further
Than my thoughts can possibly travel
Waking up in clean linens and fresh air
Reclining only to the constant of field insects
"Jared, it's getting late."
Yes, my mind gets stuck in the hinges
In the pockets of air that enter with each patron
I have found myself lost in the swirls of thinking
Torn between the bitters; the uppers and downers
A little too much, for a little too long
Wood paneling glued together by such
Temporary togetherness; what will happen when
Our vices change, our handwriting becomes illegible
When our feet do the talking
Our hands do the listening
And our eyes lead us only through dangerous tides
But she left before I came to
And better yet, so did the rats
So the mops and rags came
To get rid of the dirt and grime
And like the multiple 13-gallon bags of trash
I am back on the street, for any door
That will willingly open for me

08/20/2012

Posted on 08/20/2012
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