The Anchor

I'm just a borrowed anchor rusted and rotting in this tin pan ally of a life.
I’m walkin up that hill.
I’m walkin up that reason.
I’m playin the dice.
I’m makin a fence.
Doing my goddamn.
Livin my days looking over broken bottles scattered and broken on the floor.




I’m just a borrowed anchor rusted and rotting in this tin pan ally of a life.

What do they say as you cross the floor.
As you dance through the crowded bar.
Same faces wear the same looks as a week ago.
Faces of desperate silent rage.
They smile and say “Hiya doin Slim”
“Doin Fine” I say in my inebriated gaze.

Every look telling a story of ripped up hearts and tarnished dreams.

I exit the bar.
I take a deep breath.
Morning.
The cold snappy snap of the winter air flowing down my rusted air pipes.

A new day.

A new day.

Got to head over to the mall and be Santa for the day.