last night the bar alley wrote me:

all the all stars jump to
this bar and i can't help
but eye each shapely painted
face, the truth can't riddle
me past the first glance
of boredom and its
disease it's a terrible tree
of tunneling echoing
forsaken endless rhythm-
no end, no dance just
humming where i lay.
i the concrete of the street
and the shake of space,
we all can't have fun at
its expense. i miss the man
i used to want to be