Sunday, May 17, 2015

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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