The Pressure of Patience (Part III)

03 Sep



pine coat blues


a pint of bourbon and the pine coat blues
a singing, persistent, rises from the park cement
dead body on other dead bodies under rock
as though a loop
as though meaningful, ancient
not just another mess, a waste
some thirty-four, a boston breath
unshaven, friendly, coarse
ready to share now for a future drink
a home, a standing lamp to piss on
fuck outta here, it shouldn’abeen marking out that corner
now nothing
solemnity, a fuddled liturgy
for a night
booze and candles along the spot where he was found
the broken revelry again the next one out
until a coterminous iteration of the pine coat blues
is sung anew through a fresh pint of bourbon
whose glass will break to the shouts of bis
and further empty time


(for Tucker)

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Jack Tsoy Tumult

Morose Pontifications and Other Poetic Ramblings

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