surrounded by the hum of
thirsty tongues
and I watch, I wait, I listen
in this chair I have
bantered with quick-witted customers
poured my visions upon pixilated paper
and tapped into addiction
this place is my living room
and the fire burns behind the bar
my people, my friends, my transients,
share with me
an unlikely home
inside these walls
I have explored my future
with words and gestures
testing my talent
and here, in this place, this is where
my past comes to remind me of who
really lies beneath all this skin
these wide windows
hold in machine-made air
and it's always cold in my living room
to remind me that I
can't stay here forever,
and another place of comfort
craves for my return
this back table
mahogany and matching chairs
cradles me when words don't come
when words aren't enough
and oh, if tables could talk
pandora's box would
look like a parlor trick
when the storms of myself
could swallow the sun.
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