Poetry Blogs (Tom Waits)
Balancing my brains with bourbon in some back-ally Brooklyn bar
nighthawks that had lost hope looking for the diner, perched in a meticulous row like tin ducks on a crooked shooting gallery on Coney Island
The fella to my right was coyly flirting with a glass of miller draft, his hands embraced around but not to tight, so that it didn’t slip through his fingersas the love of a good woman once ...
Wednesday 7th December 2016 12:10 pm