(from the moon series)
sits on the counter top. Cold fingers
adjacent. Darts whiz through the smoky
ambiance. Clicks and dings of pinball
machines and clacks of billiards.
Watches money. Always. The alligator
skin wallets, the gold clips, the sweaty palms.
Hears nothing. The devil has no ears.
The devil pushes an empty wheelbarrow
up and down calle capitan, Four in the morning.
The tits and ass. The tight squeeze and the late
riser. Lives revolve around bars. Small planets.
Cigarette breath. Faded opportunities. Doors
swing wide to another regular and where's the new
blood in town. Probably down at Mickey's.
Another moon on the rocks.
You're just a sedative for idleness, aren't you?
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