Fail to find, in tile floors,
The glimmer of the glaring gods.
Raised and lowered,
Trip to find the chipping wood
And table dancers of tin and glass
Pushing sin along the finish
And taking balance of the stand and standing.
Spotted scratch and washed off scotch.
Stick to the table you’ve tapped
And pour another draught.
Fill the mind with
And throw the salt over the shoulders of giants,
Floor to chair…or was it reverse?
What mind in fleeting drink
Lipstick glasses for lucky-getting
And a red spot of and for the shame of it all.
Could all and to forwards
To guard night rain in.
And blur it all to boot.
Grease the morning with bacon against last night’s
Too putrid tasting dinner remnants.
Mop and flush and drift away.
The night was gone
But comes back with the dawn.
© – Anthony Leclair 2013
Artwork by Mirra Kardonne. Click here to view more of Mirra’s work or to contact her.