Dive Into...

Neon sign nestled between high class coffee and
High class hookers or masseuse or whatever it is that's best to
Tell your friends is your
Beacon.
Jimmy fought Irish Joe and Johnny got punched in the head,
And Tommy suffered from a fractured shoulder at one time but doesn't
remember.

51 years ago I used to drink here...there was a redhead before but she's
Dead now. I feel more regret now than passion and I can taste
Copper.
I wish life was still and calm and peaceful, like that of a Boddhisatva,
But alas...warm fire, warm memories...how I hate them so, they make my skin feel like
Black.
When at sunrise and when the windows are closed to keep out the cold, all I hear
Is destruction after destruction after distraction and it all smells like
Piss.

Rinse and repeat.

I haven't seen Jimmy in awhile and wonder if he is okay. “Who? Presidio Jimmy or Pepsi Jimmy?”
“I don't know,” I say...”Jimmy” as I can't remember who is whom and which is which. “Jimmy, you know, Jimmy...sauza and lime Jimmy...drove a taxi for De Soto Jimmy.”

“He got into another fight over a woman...one of them Koreans...sent him to General for a week.”
I didn't bother to inquire whether he was okay or would be okay because soon he would be a memory like a dollar bill stuck to the wall of a dive bar with a signature or a brassiere nailed to the top of another to commemorate debauchery and drunkenness.

I ordered a shot and paid ten dollars to the thieves.

A few weeks later I saw Jimmy at the laundry mat, he was on the wagon with his head stitched up and his clothes wrinkled like that of a lazy teenager who's mother would no longer wash his clothes. His eyes were wide, clear and I wouldn't have normally recognized him, however, I was in a
Haze.

I pretended that I didn't know him and left in haste.

Life went by and weeks later I saw him again behind that pestering neon sign...

51 years ago I used to drink here...there was a redhead before but she's
Dead now. I feel more regret now than passion and I can taste
Copper.