At the end of a long life, everything blurs together.

These crazy, smoky nights
Tattoo-wrapped bitches
Batting eyelashes
And begging love.

That freak kid from Portland
(Oregon not Maine)
Riding his bike across the country
Huge scar on his head
And a plan for world domination
In his hip pocket;
He smiles too much
But you would too if you were him.

The bouncer is not amused
(By anything)
But that's nothing new.
His job calls for such a disposition.

A degenerate gambler
Pissed off at the Patriots
And at himself
For taking the under,
Switches from bottle to draft
In anticipation of a lean week.

And out of nowhere she puts her hands around my waist.

“Do you remember my name?” she asks.


“It starts with an M.”


“That's right baby. What you doing tonight?”

Dawn breaks,
Hot water washes off the soft
And familiar stench of smoke
And sex
And liquor.

The new day smells of soap
And fresh grass
And bus exhaust.

Another day of work beckons.
Another day of work ends.

Another kid's arrested
For violation of probation.
Another happy hour,
Another televised sporting event,
A soft kiss on the cheek,
Fading off to sleep.

At the end of a long weekend, everything blurs together.

Even the smiles
And the sadness
Blur together
Into one ball of Past,
Too strong and too exciting
To last.