Emperor Norton's Boozeland

It's five in the afternoon
and all of us here at this
fine establishment
are killing ourselves slowly
on a pretty Tuesday in Spring.

The day shines
with love and fear,
beauty and destruction,
pain and luck.

We're muddling
through the moments
as best we can,

crazy and dying
and grasping
at the shiny bits.

Another round,
kind sir,

an antidote
for the greater
poison within.

Outside on Larkin St.
sidewalk people
do magic tricks
from marked decks
of bad ideas

but it's all old stuff
and no one stops
or drops a coin

and the day
is eventually cast aside
like a losing ticket,

like a prayer no one
bothered to offer.