In the Place of Stories
by Kenneth Fields

You tend to lose yourself here, friend. Come in…
Come in to the dark, come in to the music playing,
Come in to not knowing who you may become.
Here in this bar, The Nut House, you hear the titles
Of a thousand stories, the head is dizzy with them—
A whole life latent in a little line—
Broken off by the cash register, the click of balls,
A nearmiss score, another record. “Hell,
I've been cheating on her since our divorce.”
“Ain't there a family man in this fucking place?”
“Don't play me for a sap”—each wounded cry
Gone as soon as said; teasing out of us
Incomparable ghosts—“I said I was a fairy, man,
Not a magician.” You see what I mean.


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