The Bottomless Crutch

Pouring down overused mentalities

Change fumbling around

Pulling four quarters to insert

in the old fashioned jukebox

Numbers exchanged between

the mentalist and the statue

Between the shot glass

and the pint of a Irish stout

Scattered observations are slurred

Tip toeing through the cigar vapors

and the barking stilettos

Polluted with aggravation’s

and lipstick smudges on the glass

Empty barstools are playing violins

Loneliness waits for no one

Be careful where you drown

your heartache and sorrows

Look up at the glaring neon sign

The Bottomless crutch

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