Bar
History
the steady yarned mallet
against the stretched human skin of a timpani
scythe and chaff and all of that
We discuss time
God are we boring
always burning hapless fuckers
a series of fields being made fallow
Fallow is a yellow word
stalks of corn limp
inkspots bloom across them
they salmon belly in the anemic autumn sun
Roe on the tongue fizzing like pop rocks
endless present melting at the vanishing point
leaves a lump of cooly green radioactive slag
in elephantine shapes
It isn't such a steady beat
this history
percussion as drunken bar fight
and whiskey spilled on the already sticky table
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