By, Sean Frank
Light leaking from the bulbs
But not straying too far
Meanwhile the crowd's movement
Is erratic and haphazard
Everyone here is calmly ecstatic
The weekend seemed a monument
In it's waiting
But the drive here
Was salvation in the making
Music from the Jukebox
Pushing the speakers
Far past their limits
The distorted bass feels like
Small earthquakes
But the melody and rhythm
Seem to hit with a newfound grace
Beer and liquor
Quick gulps and small cascades
Grimaces and grins
Flicker across the bar
As tired souls
Exhale pieces that won't hold
A reflective chaos of conversations
Plans made, strayed, and
Laid to the wayside
Boasting about perfect futures
And abstracting finicky pasts
Creating stories we hope
In the soft focus of the dim lights
Have a false permanence
Even though
We know
In the pit of our stomachs
Nothing truly lasts