The Whiskey Mule Diner (on Caroline Street)by David L O’Nan

I was wandering out of Whiskey Mule, the night began fading The city is falling all over itself and dude, you smell like onions Taxis are hissing passing by just pissing, ripped pantyhose legends prancing drunk. Just ask the crooked mayor, he’s had his share of temptations. He’s burned all his morals and held his head high as he’s collapsing. Three women all believe that he’s dedicated, but he’s living deep on the tip of the Dead-End hill. The diner’s lights are blinking an epileptic fury. The faithful and the shrinks are washing their cuts in the sink. They have been harassing their soldiers through the flesh wounds of thunder. Bullets and promises go damp with the blood circling the city streets. Just another cup of coffee surrounded by dust, rust, and feathers. Our minds remember the times as…