Nothing ever happens (Part 3)

Bar Poetry

At last, alone
a new bar
quietly staring
at the incongruities
of a Friday night.
A whole sofa for myself
noise and smoke
chaos in small doses
— slowly letting the booze
sink in
as I begin to feel
like an invincible dragon
ready to scorch the night
in one terrible yawn
of boredom.
Not much later
I got up and headed home
to drown
whatever was left of this life
in the substance of
dreams.

nihilistic poetry

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