no practice needed

Well, well well
I make it quarter to eleven.
Tomorrow is going to be a bitch
to awake for,
but the strangers at the bar
are at a distance.

I talk to no one
apart from the page
as the barman agrees
to taking Tom Waits
instead of the usual dross.

Heaven never existed,
but right now is real,
and I sip gently at the beers
as life moves on elsewhere,
but right here it is rested
with heavy eyes.

There is time to think
and compose.
The fingers press on,
the mind catches up.

Bliss rests on the heart,
calm sits on the brain,
and right now I must boast:
this is really something.

It is simple,
it is friendly
and it beats the shit
out the big nights out.

A toast, my friends,
to doing it well. 

Keep on going,
breathe every now and again.
Pick up the pace
slow it down.
It is so obvious
we must hate ourselves
for when it staggers.

Anyhow, time to sign off,
the evening plays on,
lonely cigarettes need to be smoked.
Just be aware
that this smile
consumes the sadness
and it will not last forever,
but it will do