To the Artist's Page To our home page
To Michael Leary's previous piece
Sex, in a Board Game Box Eyes scratching hands tearing, seeking only a pretty face, slim body, nothing more. Visually they play darts and pin the tail in the donkey. Each stepping in line to ask if I am a trick, or treat. But I have a mind as well, and my ass is not looking for a tail. In the smoky air, the ebb of time is marked by the passing of men beneath the exit sign, two and even three of a kind. I still sit upon a worn barstool, stroking my drink, waiting, for someone who'll ask me something other than my name, where I am from, and how often do I come to this bar. Without thim I will go home alone, I've learned to fill my own hand.
To the top of this page