As if overstaying
My fragile welcome
Were not enough
I had to fall
Off the wagon again;
Fall so hard I missed my
Leaving-thunder train
By a pocketful of hours.
Now I’m buying
Time, whisky and friends
In a lock-in bar, while,
Outside, in the sodium lit fog
Two hog-jockeys and
A crooked lawman
Take it out of the
Latest version of my god.
Ghost of the Big man
Blows tears through his
Angel horn, like he always did:
Truth is a pale, poor story.
21/6/2013