A dry palimpsest of cumshots
in the seats of one of the rows,
marks the invisible line,
between the shitheads plain
and the people who pretend
they are not shitheads the same.

In the fog and the darkness
they fuse neonlike, furled.
Why is your stomach so fat, you twat?
This is the dirtiest lounge bar
in town, safe for a drink
only in the bar proper.
As nimble as deer,
and gazed by the entourage queer,
I seek in alcohol
the faculties of the seer
to no avail.

Like the hardest fuck,
you just don't rid of the smell
simple,
so I better get going home.

And this is how it's done.