a thick wooden flower, both glossy and old
maniacally waxed
obvious goodies such as
pink wines that foam
winos running in and out of the bathroom
in a basement of wet walls
rocks rolled into place
cantilevered apparently, the kind of true irregularity
you can breathe in, fall in love with
milkshakes, uniforms, a gentle storm
mist before
the hottub
politics at the bar
one scene at a time, maybe the story grows
moves upstairs and down, runs into different
neighbors, stops at the horse fence, langors,
passes strangers, once sober, later drunk
increasingly serious, Alfred Hitchcock,
outrage!
leaky and blue, that's what this place is,
it's leaking. The ground is wet, smoke rises
over everything, especially the dining room
where waiters talk shit about celebrities
There's a pseudo-celeb in glasses behind the bar
he leads her away "by the elbow"
"Alex"
"Madonna"
passively positive
next to the freeway
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