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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required No one questioned her presence she was conditioned to think that she could walk amongst Gods she was no godd-Ess amongst the god-Less she pulled the doors of the bar towards her the neatly, handwritten sign read: “closed” But “she” was welcome. she gazed at the fine spirits they were organized on the opaque wall with an obsessive preciseness she made her way from the doorway and jumped In. Cold. Calculated. the men gathered around the pool table drew her attention like a gypsy string a knot formed… While records spun Spun. ……………………they spun: Miles and Miles of *****es brew, Frank’s state of mind, and Cash’s blues. she wanted in the game. 8-ball the stakes were clearly pronounced and sanctified by a shot of her preference We played. she lost. I played well. the senses of that evening faded throughout time the imagery had fallen from her like dead things her heartbreak continued long after we met but we play for keeps there and it was rightfully mine for months my chaser was in the form of genuine tears out of a lipstick-smudged-chipped glass we play for keeps here amongst the god-Less the sign never changes and “she” never wins it is a refined 8-ball game within four heavy walls where the only portrait of a female hangs above the bathroom the urinal--- amidst the cocaine residue--A picture of Venus herself--- and we all wait for her to walk through those doors---to ignore that sign--- for that 8-ball game to begin. for me to lose.
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