By Adam Schirling
while at the church
or in the library’s stacks
or in the coffeehouse
i feel weird and awkward
like people see through
my calm demeanor to the
raging inferno within
they sense my frantic thoughts
and drunken desires
i start to sweat and
breath real heavy
and want to run away
but at the small pub
gloomy and quiet
save for an old jukebox
or the tattoo shop
where extreme art is born
i feel at home
a king of thieves
at the basement show
watching raw emotion spill
into loud music
or the seedy titty bar
with it’s aging whores
the warmth of nonjudgement
wraps around me
placating all turmoil
the drunks and deviants
my true family
its a damned thing to realize
but fuck
does it feel good
Clutching at Straws 