Everyone is looking,
desperate eyes darting from glance
to furtive glance.
Eye contact, however brief, is a victory
for the meek. The foolish brave stare
openly, wide eyed idiots.
Hearts melt and flow
faster than the 50 cent draft special.
Everyone is looking,
No one is buying.
Where are we going?
Looking for meaning in the bottomless pint,
I go home alone,
again always
where the cracks in the ceiling gape and leer
at my foolishness.
I lay on the floor, illuminated
By the pale light of a 40 watt moon,
Bathing in warm red-head blues
As the sky collapses, weighing down
My lids, snowing in my dreams.
