A Prayer for the Old, Mendicant Wretch

She’s sat here for a hundred years, here, at this bar. Before it was even built, before the old jukebox was even installed, she was here winking at Johns, and Jims, and asking their story. Asking them to buy her a round. Since before time began, she’s been here. Many men have known her love,Continue reading “A Prayer for the Old, Mendicant Wretch”

A New World Will Rise

After the bombs, the riots, the protests, and all the rest of the excitement finally subside, all that will remain will be rats, roaches, and ruin. That, and those winos on the corner. Still trying to scrape together enough for a bottle – even though the liquor stores’s gone. When the shakes from detox subsideContinue reading “A New World Will Rise”

Just a Bukowski Tonight

let’s cut through it I’m just a man, nothing more and the way you did your eyes tonight is sexy the shape of your face reminds me of a girl I used to know someone who used me not her fault, I deserved it she was sexy too so is your face I can’t tellContinue reading “Just a Bukowski Tonight”

State of the World Address from the Bottom Left-hand Corner

the black-jack dealer laments over a hi-ball: “It’s depressing. All day I see people lose their money. I’m contributing. I’m part of it. I’m losing along with them.” –BSB

Hummingbirds

It just didn’t make sense. Not yet at least. Questions buzzed his skull like hummingbirds on a vengeful tear, and he had not the answers with which to sate them. Perhaps if he drank enough, they would come. Perhaps if he sat at the bar long enough, the world would simply move on. Perhaps, heContinue reading “Hummingbirds”

Hunting Ground

Lights shine artfully from towers that stab the night sky. That’s the key. The fill light seeps from lamp-posts and taxis and pedestrian cars. The darkness becomes the subject that’s framed in heroic personification. Alley-bound prowlers become protagonists in the urban ballet of apathy and compassion. Smoke emits from gutters to languish. Ambition puts rootContinue reading “Hunting Ground”

Jack, or was it Jake?

I. Jack. Or Jake. I don’t exactly know for sure, ’cause everybody used to call the cat one or the other. One night old Paul’d be in and see the skinny cat hangin’ out in his usual spot at the end of the counter. He’d holler, “How you been, Jake?” And cat would nod andContinue reading “Jack, or was it Jake?”