*Too Bad It's Not My Turn.

Positively 8 Ball

On the house,

Beers with a failing marriage.

A sitcom tagline,

Bar room scrawling

On a napking you’re too drunk to carry.
And writers have tablets

Their minds and a head

That carries mistakes,
Love, words & a high back to bed.
Retail insomnia

Doesn’t replace

The remembrance of the

Pre, post war high

I was clean up until now

Which is yet another lie

I’ve been positively 8 ball

 A poet metaphorically high.

And self-aware,

Cynically, self-mocking a rhyme.
I’m forgettable

I pounded into my skull,

Until I used up what sanity made that so.
I’m ignored and useless
Selfish  poet,
Pity partier

Table for one

I said I was self-mocking

And self destructively

Introspectively stubborn

Inferiority

Superiority complex.

I look back at my first words.
And how much I’ve erased

Faith,

You put too much away

Into attics & trunks

And cliché hiding places,

I’ve become
Positively 8 ball
This poem has no ending.
                                                           

Godspeed & Goodnight
C.B.