Friday, June 2, 2017

Party Lines

At the Noir Bar
They barter condolences
Like arsonists spread straw,
To shatter like crystal
To the surface of the floor.

The message is unscrambled
From the invisible waves
Each to his own illusion,

Is there waste? Chaos? Or just
Solitude extending itself
To no place?

Truth shares Thunderbird with bums,
Acts like nothing matters,
No need to justify what needs no proof,
A curio to reach for
In the golden light
Of the store,

Where every kind of crazy
Is worshipped and abhorred
But eventually we agree
For the good of the party
To be redeemed
By what we don't understand,
What others say we are,
What they see.