napkins and madness at the pub

The glasses clip

People chattering with full mouths

They can talk full of marbles

Still promise nothing spilled across the floor

Can’t feel the flaw under the

Hollering

Laughing

Bottling

Losing

Winning

Nothing is no good

The glass bottom the only teller of tall truths

The local is known

The locals are home beings jostled through

The gravel on an early Sunday evening

Can it be shifted

Moved from judgment to freedom of existing:

Choice

Stop

Pause

Speed up

Edges

Or

Naught

Allowed instead of understood

Take want to get

Not get what you can take

It’s easier to think

In crowds

Channel

Channel

But what if

Possibility could sit still

If the feet didn’t need to be

Race horses flogged

The heart needn’t brave

Giving out

Find what’s been hiding

Lying

Cause we all prefer

Perfection

Watch over look

First sip first

Clink the glass