Vacant Mirror Redux

 Tolerance The thing about life is You really only have to tolerate Yourself That’s what really matters Just putting up with your own bullshit Sure we indulge In giving bad advice Advice we couldn’t take ourselves  But dish out like we have some  Control over how others deal with their Problems We also indulge in rhetoric to  Just hear our own voices We sit upon endless piles of the stuff Just waiting for the moment To ladle it out  Onto the plate of some benign conversation But then We find silence The art It needs to be created On who’s dime My own And the goal Is always to  Leave something that will endure Long after I’m gone Create some foothold Some memory Some story someone will Recall In some conversation  Some pause  Some moment That reminds them Of what I’ve created On someone’s dime My own. 

 The bar Part2 In all of my years Tenders were untouchable and  Bulletproof They could care less If you were the  Local jock has been Still wearing your class ring from 88 Or the next TS Elliot Of paper napkin poetry  Cash was king  And unless you were 93 One of those Doug’s  Was Gonna check your ID.

 And in my desperation I would threaten  To wreck myself Upon the bar A familiar watering hole Close enough to the highway to not be considered as seedy as the one  In the grove It had been customary For Blue and I To play rounds of  Pool and toss back  One of the many microbrews  They offered If I was in a favorable mood Pete’s wicked ale Was my Soup of the day It had become less Customary To actually play any rounds Of pool in the last few months It had become  My excuse I was a lonesome sad sack Despite having more friends  And a regular social life  Something I had longed my whole existence I was ultimately alone Aside from the gruff bartender (They were all called Doug) And the always cheery owner Scott Who always greeted me with a round On the house I sat by myself For hours On that stool Long enough for two School mates  From my past to walk in And reminisce One bought me a round  And invited me to the  Asian restaurant ...

 Stairwell** There was a rarely used stairwell  At the local community college i attended I don’t know when I decided it was a good idea to start drinking in there But I did a few times Usually friends would follow  In my hand an ultramarine Arizona iced tea bottle filled to the brim With Jack and Coke We’d all get giddy Tom Z was especially funny about the situation He was a bit older and worked at art a lot harder than most He also enjoyed knocking the shit out of the rules He was most famous for the naked painting he created right in the courtyard of the college More than paint rubbed off of Tom Z  His style and candor changed the atmosphere He was bohemian in a sense Hyper critical of his own work  Yet could break free from that type of stress to enjoy all of the characters surrounding him A perfect memory of Tom z would be that afternoon I started painting my own sweater during class Either bored or annoyed at my own painting I turned the brush on myself To...

 *Party** My parents insisted on dropping me off at a friends house A nice house on the other side of town J. didn’t have to invite me He was the closest I could call a friend from the early days Back when it was almost impossible To make friends amongst A whole set of peers that didn’t look  Kindly on someone that stood back Staying back  Was what parents warned their kids back then When they failed grades Or didn’t listen I was branded with that early on Always made aware by the snickers of the class that continued to move forward And all the shorter kids I was now attached to He was my friend despite all that shit My first official party It would be a night of debauchery I had only heard about In movies. Before I get ahead of myself, It was mild in comparison to the ruckus house party scene in weird science. And may have just been another Friday night in the lives of that social circle. But watching a stoner walk through the kitchen carrying a bong was fantastic I shar...