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There aren’t too many places around here where Your can put hands to wood and hear the clink of dusty glasses Pulled off the highway, took a dirt path through the pine trees After three beers anyone gets to talking In my dream last night we sang a song, me and this stranger The first verse tumbled out of him like a coal-powered train He and the bartender turned towards me I opened my mouth, wasn’t sure what would come out But I sang the high chorus , my voice choked with whisky and reverence There are atheists in foxholes But god hides In the bottoms of bottles everywhere |
Great write! I love that you take us through the woods. I can see the dirt path through the pine trees, the dusty old bar. The guys who "get to talking". In my mind I've added wrinkled faces, trucker hats, and flannel shirts. And that line: "The first verse tumbled out of him like a coal-powered train" In my humble opinion, there is much more to this than the "one-liner (esque)" punch line that it ends with. It's all that builds up to it that makes it seem effortless. Anyway, like I said, great write! -Jane | Posted on 2017-02-20 00:00:00 | by JanePlane | [ Reply to This ] | Gah, you are so good at those one-liner (esque) endings. Like, do you have a shamelessly self-promoting Instagram account where you make little pictures of your poems in typewriter font and post them with hashtags like #poetry? | That sound super bitchy and sarcastic but I'm serious. Write a fucking book already. | Posted on 2017-01-10 00:00:00 | by etheror | [ Reply to This ] | |