Cold hearts sway to timid tones.
We hum hard; hoping to rattle the
grit out of our mouths.
Sand blasted teeth resonate youthful
denial, torturing revelation’s bargain.
No cheap tricks. No sunshine,
we’re all gone.
Too drunk on pain,
to find hope in the rainfall of liquor
in this dusty scene.
Too many empty bottles chugging
on air; the last breaths of my generation.
A swirling vortex of broken condoms
and vomited promises dance in neon
light behind the bar, threatening to dive
into the mouth of the next patron that
calls to the bartender.
A violent eyed harlot with dollars
bursting out of her bra.
She serves death with a smile,
gyrating her hips to a beat
…that never dances.
She just throws ice into
our blood and glances at
the tip jar..
Knowing we’ll pay our own
way to hell.
-James Kelley 2013, All rights reserved.