The Lounge (once more)

Such a polished act,

“who you mean”,

your obscenity
and crawling nails,
they scratch the sidewalk,
we lost all hope for You
and walk with dark eyes;
thrown from Your arms.

You held the tickets,
of children whose dreams
and whose tune…
feet with pepsi caps,
the smiles of night.


Willingly plundered
in dark brown or kool-aid lime,
holding the smokes
and shivering puffs,
that pass from lip
to mouth.

We look 6:30 in the morning;
we are your Lounge.

“yeah I know, it’s voodoo”

Our paper dryness and
shaking palms,
we high and low,
ritual blows,
who work the Lounge,
who adore your obscenity,
the comedy, the pages of scribble;
our perspectives of absurd value.

We adore you and
that sketch, stubbled erasings
in the Lounge.

“you mean the voodoo lounge?”


2010 Barry Comer – visit

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