Sunday, January 30, 2022

Sunrise in Vegas

A thick mist of pity has clung overnight
As the monsters announce themselves again
In yellow, and the relentless silver drill
Welds the day to the palms, the streets, the cars
And yawning morning towers ...

Something about this town makes everyone
Bring their worst. It seems to want it that way, 
For the compassion that can be bestowed
In this hangover glare, as if there is no
Separation between our monstrous deeds
And the monstrous deeds that made us that way,

And each flinch away from the garter blade
Or fiendish mustache twist turns into guilt 
Automatically, for having lived,
Just for a day, without that leaden club
Swaying over your head, and to have had, 
Even for a day, some lucky seven
Combination, no matter how long ago 
It went unrecovered.

The sun here lets us know we're less the victim 
That the low hum has the manners not to stir
To words yet, for we cannot handle
A syllable, so acute is the pain
Of others, so little we can say or do,
Just following like this ridiculous sun
From one end of the strip to the other

Saying "I'm so sorry" and "I want you
To have fun" as if it's almost enough,
Though fate spins like the inevitable 
Roulette wheel on losing hands, the eyes of
The croupier and customer the same
As it lands, but that is all
They are ever allowed to share.