lies about nothing

my gods, I love a lost cause. hair
around hot metal, kisses
between the elderly. seven blocks
in spike heels, flagging a cab
at 3 a.m. on a rainy Saturday

bring it on. a mouthful of dead moths,
watch me grin. a cheshire on nitrous.
the lover looks like a brother.
or vice versa, it's really
neither here nor there

the string instruments plink
and the jukebox song's
enough to drive you off the edge
of the bar, heavy handed piano
a minor key but the band's tuning
ruins the mood so suicide
is out of the question

again. your glass is nearly empty
and the percussionist looks bored
or merely in love. hard to tell
with bluegrass, if that's what this is.
fruit flies orbit. give mama a kiss.