Thursday, July 30, 2015

Half-Drunk on Fremont Street.

Half-Drunk on Fremont Street
by james bezerra

For me
it was like
touching the face of God
when, half-drunk on Fremont Street,
I realized
the Las Vegas strip club
in my favorite novel
was real,
with just a slightly altered name.

I don't have
a Mecca,
or even
a Galilee,
but as I stood there
beneath that
high bright
blinking canopy of light,
I briefly vibrated into tune
with the appallingly strange
and randomly merciful
of everything.

G-string Sirens beckoned
into the air conditioned blue light
scented with lotus blossoms
and thick with Blowback.

Heaven likely
doesn't have strippers
and Hell
likely doesn't have
a two drink minimum
at nine bucks apiece,

But what a revelatory
few moments
I once was
gifted while
half-drunk on Fremont Street.


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