Last Call - poem by Joshua K. Chase (art, rockabilly, disillusion)

Years lost to dreams of wormwood
Rolling hills and maroon-colored nightfall
Leather jackets and games of chicken
Driving mad into the fire
James Dean nostalgia
Never going about life with hands behind backs
On the coast
Where "Summer Wind" plays in circles, and
Billiards fill garages, and
Whiskey forms bonds
Washington whigs are worn
Only when tube sock rollerblading
And on the other side
Where cloudless days give away
To starless nights
And monster teeth are scribbled with sevens
Drunken poets sprawl brokenhearted
Over gum-splooged staircases
Cuddling up to two-dollar, fifty cent
Paper bag wine
Howling outside hipster bars, and
Artsy punk cafes
Camels burning dangerously close
To unconscious, grunge-ridden fingertips
      As Elliott Smith cries for "Last Call"
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About Joshua K. Chase

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Joshua K. Chase is a poet and journalist living in Pahrump, NV. Currently, he works as a staff writer for the Pahrump Mirror.
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