Monday, April 27, 2015

24/30 Pub Talk

Pub Talk
My tongue
is tied
to a stool.
Clocks chime
in a crossword
and a pint,
ink moves
across and down.

You say,
"Is this seat taken?"
Your elbow
brushes mine
and on my chin
rests your shadow.
I say,
"It's not taken."

You sit
and in-between
shots and chasers
you say,
"I've travelled
to the great City
of Glory
inhaled rhododendron
in night.
Hid eyes
from Sagarmatha,
watched
clouds
drift
beneath
my feet."

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