Glassed Ale - Steve Coel
Here-
Where...re-cycled gloves spill glassed ale on the corner seat of the damp pop-up..
Where...locked doors open to sharp knocking..
Where...debt plagues argument like two coins rubbed clear..
Where...coat collar romance is early morning and drunk..
Where...feelings twist bitter movement..
is the place language comes to die.
Half Stolen Buildings, Steve Coel
