In the back
scratching our souls through our cheeks
jagged like a joint rolled on a timid morning
we were the maniacs carved out of society like a C-section
smoking by the club doors
drinking from the smuggled pint
we watched the performers…
and now I can say we were “looking smug like a polluting smog”
(or something like that) –
but that wouldn’t make for a very good poem.
I promise to be back soon with some real work. It’s been a busy few weeks. Not enough time to perfect some pieces begun, and a heavy editing workload constantly whirling feverishly about me, reminding me of its presence.
If enough acceptable work gets done over the next couple of days – I might do a short set at Bowery Poetry Club on Monday.