There are shots on the bar today
amber votives, offerings
your bike slowly rusting,
a jukebox coughing up
London Calling, Hank Williams
The cranes are fishing in the ditch
Life seethes on in its dumb animal bliss
The cancer in your father's hollow bones
does not retreat though it plants a flag in you
Say instead: your hair has grown back
a long black pennant, behind you
Your bike is built of light, and Gary
has saved you a seat, with a fresh glass
Say instead; the clouds are hill country
the thirsty ghosts line the bars there
the road winds on and on, copless
an unspooling of mondayless days
Kiki, go smiling, go with no hooks in this world
to hold you, your own wheels beneath you
a black highway, a long and raucous night
an endless sunday
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Thank you for this.
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