Oct 26, 2011
Chromed Invaders
I’ll drink martinis by then, Watch baseball, and call myself A sock, like scholars who grasp Things to feel the red seams Of their brains come evening. Are you good? They ask me In The Brothers Tavern, My beer too low too long, Its sweat crowding the paper Which means the barkeep, On behalf of the flies, Has to know why I'm on the books. “The fuckin Boss is shakin the pipes, man!” And the bases are loaded.