Reality is a Blind Piano Player in a Two-Bit Tavern on Hell’s Western Frontier

He sits on that puke-

Stained stool playing

The same old songs

Ad infinitum and

The hell with you

If you don’t know

What that means

Again And again

Without mercy

For too many

And with tenderness

For too few does

He tinkle those

Ebony and Ivory

Keys he never

Changes century

After century

Even as those

Bullets whiz by

His hoary head

He just grins

And plays those

Tragic, comical,

And tragicomical

tunes

For most as they

Straggle in dust

And blood-covered

And even those

Filled with arrows

And slugs suffer his

Discordant melodies

Sometimes

One will drink enough

Rotgut to call out a tune

Like Everything’s Coming

Up Roses or I’m in the

Money, and you should

See the piano player’s

Smile then….I’ve seen

It and heard his tunes

For lifetimes now.

Sometimes he’ll play

Just a Little Tenderness

If I look bad enough

Coming back from the

Not So OK Corall, but

Mostly it’s his sick

Or melancholy stuff

That I hear on my

Way to the bar to

Drink alone as the

Gamblers sit and

Lift marked cards

From dogeared decks

Even the saloon girls

There seem to be

Getting uglier lately

So I head on over to

The Last Chance

Spot where those

Baby-faced black

Girls lie just as much

But throw those

Velvety curves

Right in my stubbly

Face

And the dj plays

Those funny ass

Raps that crack

Me up

 

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