Oasis

Haven't been here in years,
     a true bar for mad men
traipsing around the dark
     looking for wine &
gossamer breath.

Pool table owns the back,
      man at the bar
seems lost in his beard.
       "So am I, buddy,"
I would say, if I was going
        to talk to him.
But I'm enjoying
        my garage beer too much.

Last time I was here with poets
     who didn't drink.
I drank myself into the stars
      and shattered my glass
on the floor as balls slammed
      into each other on the velvet green.

I'm always looking for that one
       place to go,
somewhere to find America
       at the bottom of a plastic cup,
one that I hope says "Old Style".

Next time I'll come here
          later at night,
when the full moon is out looking
           for a fix,
and someone is willing to say
            out loud,
"This place is a beautiful shit hole."
       And then we'll dance for America,
that 249 year old shattered glass
        on the lovely
piss stained floor.