Bar of the Foul
Inky Smoke twirls and dance
Its smoky Polka amid a sea
of horror shows all projecting
their shadows upon one and all.
Amongst grinning goblin junkies
Amongst grinning toothless fairies
downing drinks of dead desire
the smoke is not the only
thing to creep in
the stench of new attendees
enter the frying pan through
the fire.
Suddenly there is an uproar
A hag's scream pierces the smoke
a ghoul chokes on a bone
the reminder of something even
more sinister then themselves
has appeared. Through the
suffocated windows of ash
comes the radiant light of a
new dawn. Reminding them
all of their lives, of the next
day to come.
They pack it up, all shuffling
back to reality as the cock chimes
Nine
Echoing upon the cool breeze
lifting out smoke and stuffiness
Exposed is the blood stained
floor, wood and decayed
a victim of alcohol spills
and termites. The Black Rats
scatter over cannibalized
carcasses, trying to find their
dens again.
The bar tender a troll of
ignorant repute, grinds his
oily teeth as his apron
drips with the screams of
goats and children
He scrubs down the floor
the tables
the Bar
the Alter
Gone is any evidence of the
night before
except I suppose the stench
that can never be done away
with
A constant reminder of the
Night
only faded from memory
It will return
It has to
As the cockroaches file
back in as they always do
to the dance of smoke
Copyright © Colin Amato | Year Posted 2009
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