Sunday, May 29, 2011

I duck under a guillotine
every time I enter a bar.
I know the blade is sharp,

the trigger almost invisible.
Walked into a thousand dives
from Michigan to Thailand,
Alaska to Tijuana.
Once the gloom leaves the eyes
the rooms look familiar.
Threats and conquests
taken in one glance,
juke box, bathroom, back door
the next.

Now I'm older and wiser,
I tell myself,
better at getting along.
I know every day has its own
wicked blade.
Whispering names,
humming to itself.
Inanimate, cold,
a tool of time.
Makes the surprise of each day

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