A Quick Back Alley Snort

In 2004 I began catching the stench

of my own unfulfilled morning quake

tremor, it turned normal faces at the bus stops

into devils as the world kept spinning

albeit dirge like circular walk back

                 then.

There were the open jagged snarl shape of tin gutters spitting

and groaning out slavers of rainwater

and the ground was slicked-down drool

near the street curb.

I offered my whiskey up in 2008 to a

faceless waiter in the back alley, appreciated

the quick snort and warmth in-belly

as a new president took office and the

old world shifted away forever.

- - - - - - - - -

(March 18th, 2014)