Hey Sty,
It's 3 a.m, I've been up behind the blind all night long. I'm at the bottom of my 2nd bottle of wine. An old man maddened by the flesh of young girls in the dwindling twilight of my years. Liver gone, kidneys going, pancreas pooped, top-floor blood pressure. I thought you were coming by. I saw a creature out there, shirtails hanging out, shoes run down, eyes dulled. How he managed to keep going was a mystery to me. He was a loser, managed to find the entrance fee, somehow able to place his feeble bet. I saw his kind before, he had a shabby beard, part of the leather from his jacket in tatters, soles of his shoes flapping, showing his bare feet. I dreamed I saw him placing his bets in the brokerage house. He had glasses on but one lense was missing and the one that remained was nearly black. He had a right. I got up went to the mirror, look in at myself. Open my mouth check my teeth, and poured another glass of wine down my throat. That wasn't you out there was it.
Tom Hays |
