It doesn't matter how good the band sounds,
there's always a damn pool game going on.
I'm just trying to maintain on this barstool,
looking up into the neon
and wondering why these crows
are flying north
into a constellation of plastic silver stars.
I track their circular flight.
Finally, after my third Tanqueray,
I have to turn away.
I've been trying to give all these things on the ceiling
a name of their own
but they just won't hold still.
There's a dark side to this life
and I've found my little corner,
just holding on so I don't turn to smoke
or fall into the linoleum abyss.
Its dizzying up here.
And when I see all those crows
flying north, I fear
that Heaven is Emptiness,
a place where the crows never arrive,
where the future stalls out,
where the past is all we can claim.
The sight of low hanging stars,
small change, wet bills on the bar
and La Bamba pounding off the stage
is not enough.
Hear the cue ball
banking and clicking loud?
It goes on and on like that,
round and round
like the crows and the stars
until the 8-ball drops.