Vagarity.

Vagarity
by james bezerra

Alone in bars now

I frequently find

myself.

A vagarity of aging,

a narrowing of life;

an expanding aloneness.

Old lonely drunks who

bend bartender’s ear

really just missing

old friends.

I like

square white napkins.

Like to press

round wet drink rings,

reminds me of Jeff Buckley

Live at Sin-e

reminds me

of old nights,

old friends,

some dead now.

Alone in bars

now

I frequently

find ghosts, home.

Alone in bars

now

I frequently

feel at home.

Home, word

like a smooth

blue pebble

on the tongue.

Bend now

a bartender’s ear.

Every bar

is the same bar is

a kind of home.

Spit a pebble.

There is comfort in ghosts,

for the lonely.

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