Black Rum Funk

I am gray,
I know;

the sky is gray,
I know;

another night
has come, 
another dive into 
black rum.

I turn my head 
toward solid music
to hold me
until I am fully drunk and 

looking young again —
not to say I am
young again — not to say
the mirror agrees with me — 

when I do
this rum lights shit up
and this funk
holds shit down

and what I see
in that mirror looks like
fun and steam,
best moments

of a black rum life — 
this bar lit barely at all,
full of stomp and promise,
brush, rub, tug, groove;

I may soon be
out of black rum
but I’m not yet
out of blacktop;

that band
may be shutting down
but I’m not yet
out the door;

I may be driving
into the dark
but I know where
this road goes

and with any luck 
I’m not going down it
all alone

tonight.

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About Tony Brown

A poet with a history in slam, lots of publications; my personal poetry and a little bit of daily life and opinions. Read the page called "About..." for the details. View all posts by Tony Brown

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