Saturday, July 16, 2011

He sits alone

He sits
At the end of the bar
As he has
One hundred nights before
Nursing
His whiskey and ice
Yet the ice melted
Two yesterdays ago
Framed
In a halo of smoke
From a butt end
That dares seem to burn
Dangling precariously
From his lips
Head bowed solemnly
Resting
No
Balanced
On a hard wearing hand
On the side of an unshaven face
The hand
Calloused
Sinewy
Mutterings escape those lips
Heard by the unseeing
A blur
To those that can hear
Words that appear to be in rhyme
Eyes
Hollow
Dilated
Mournful
Staring at the surface of scars
Eyes that have seen
Eyes that have been
Far too much
No one ventures
Into his space
As his world seems
So far away
So out of place

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