i drink amongst
the deranged and lonely
who have no place to go
where the bartender sometimes
gives me free rounds on account of
“you’re a good dude and
i see your sorrow”
i don’t ask for much
and i’m given a lot,
i should be thankful,
but i wish to be
left alone
i wonder if this sort of thing
plagued my ancestors and
if this fixation on death
can be attributed to
them or if it’s just
my head
Tohm Bakelas
aiurea press 