Eating burnt baby back ribs under dim red lamps
Around wooden tables adorned with good friends and
Conversations:
The difference between nerds and geeks or poets and artists.
We are all one of the sort, in our own way
About Williams and Elliot, the trite bastard and his lake,
Of Monet and Thomas, McCord and Ferlinghetti, Ginsberg, a man!
And of love, and death and sex, the girl with good hair he should have fucked:
These things that matter to
Us. Trading and out-shining, and Reciting
In Vanity- drinking Stoli, or bitter DeadMan beer, tasting as though filtered through
One -Til a street sweeper hotfoots past in prep for the erasure of the
Perfect night Shared with lovers
And friends
And others. Lungs hurt from menthols bummed on that porch
We totter home to dreamless pillows, cold and inviting