I came back to this place;
this city on business,
this place on purpose -
to see how it was in the light.
The "no" . . . "not here" . . .
"not like this" in the pebbles and dew
and firecrackers clearing the throat of God.
What was that kiss she gave me
outside her mother's door?
Yes Yes Yes
Every head in the bar nods
revisiting its own story
its own
precious purpose.
There is a brotherhood in having feelings
forced down, smeared around your mouth.
And as newcomers enter
we are promted to ask,
"What touched your lips,
what smeared you to this place."