Vegas Tattoo Blues

Admittedly, this one is a tad* dark (written several years ago, revised today) but I imagine some of you who’ve have spent too much time thinking in Vegas like I have may understand the concept….

Vegas Tattoo Blues

Brown carpet is a
worn threadbare path
rough against my arches.

False air blows brown curtains
cooly, such a drag.

My hands so slim and tender
are steady.

Despite the night,
that mascara running, fishnet talking,
suited pusher, blinking neon,
jackpot empty promise of a night.
It stings.

Pills help, booze too
but nothing compares to this.

My eyes bead with water
like the rows of cars on
Las Vegas Boulevard, every
solitary mark belongs.

I gaze out the window.
Casinos blink approval
and bloat their bellies full
of quarters.

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