The Barfly’s Lament

I’ve been breathing in sulfur
for too damn long.
A strong drink could cure me.
At every turn, I meet some hyper-
critical snob who wants to rob me
of my audacity. I’ve zero – ZERO –
capacity for grace in these
graceless situations,
hastening faces to the pavement
in a cataract of blood.
The coat rack is only friend,
an honorable sort. Lacking
my short temper and bravado.
Incommunicado.
What’s left of my heart
is choking on an avocado pit,
and I’m shit for it, you see.
All night long, the memories
of seashores I’ve never been to
seem to sear my dreams
to a crispy black. Which is to say
I don’t dream at all.

-r. miller

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