This thin-skinned face before me
tell the greatest stories.
Each of many wrinkles
draws another picture.
The deep bass tells secrets,
spilling them with ease,
pausing before each one
making time freeze.
Through coughs and sips of beer
we’re off to distant places.
A priceless stationary voyage
through his universes.
We’re leaving this bar
and this muddy town.
This kingdom of cheap perfumes
smoky clothes and filthy rooms.
For a moment it’s all gone
and I can allow myself
to finally forget it all,
to disappear through the walls.
And I’ll know when it’s time to go
The last last call, the last last rounds.
It’s not the stories I needed at all.
It’s the escape that really counts.
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