Behind the bar the world skews wildly,
indiscretions unfolding minute by minute,
hailings in foreign tongues, alien names yowled without
grace—
these are the hallmarks of my trade.
The long, debaucherous nights
spent enduring plumes of woe, misery made tangible.
Hawked and fawned over, leered and lambasted;
the libations, a steady deluge into hellish maws
bleeding greenery and obfuscating sanity—
the corrosive toxicity of panacea’s allure.
Its taxing, the constant facade of fabricated frivolity,
the decrepit mask adorned daily to coax lust and greed;
extracting its toll by scouring decency.
Yet our broken circuitry demands salvation,
fiendishly seeks absolution in hovels and midden heaps—
slovenly we oblige: immolate
and imbibe.
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