Time and the Revolutionary

Time slows, the heady days distilled into crawling years

Boredom lethargically eating holes in the wall

Strands of grey hair suddenly sprout, 

Which the Revolutionary meticulously counts, languidly 

He reminisces on his youth crippled forever

on the sidewalk 

 

Slowly, as the drink slurps past his throat

A beeline for the brain, pickling his dreams and

promises preserved in alcohol

awaiting the Resurrection

Time, frail and disillusioned stubbornly refuses to move

 

The mind is marooned on an island of want

And time leisurely erodes the thoughts of escape

Morbid entertainment provided by ageless flights

of courting seagulls

They are here today and here tomorrow

 

Then Time dies naturally, euthanizing those uberous ideals

Cremation is immediate, ashes mixed with dust, wind and water

a memorial built to what could have been.

The beer bottles emptying out one after the other 

another Revolutionary defeated…

Night At This Bar

In This Bar listening to voices strangle the music

and the voices transform to an uproar

broken glasses tinkling on the ground

 

Faces blurred into beer glasses;

That drunkard at the corner swears he's not drunk

The leery gambler is sure he's bets are calculated

The terrorist dancing ungainly,

knows his causes 

are dead right

He's been killed many times by Jägerbomb

 

At the bar, reticent, I'm the voyeur

Listening to inane conversations

Gleaning out inside information from city boys

Which would be invaluable tomorrow 

if the hangover allows 

 

There's no sadness in This Bar

Only love and anger

Disintegrating to kisses and broken glasses

 

Sadly, Time and the big brawny bouncers come

To end our stories

Which would continue same time tomorrow

Maybe same casts, maybe different lovers ...