Foghouse

I relish the bars;  
with stools of curling laminate
and metal frameworks
flashing rusty undercrusts - baring their wear
 
And girls with shorter hair than guys  
 
And flighty eyes - lime in the teeth
 
Pleather plastered, leggy dreamscapes
 
These seasoned walls - motion no new wine skins;
a passover impression
to impede the breach of new propriety  
None too thin remain...
a laced homeostasis  
on time,  
like Washington rains  
 
Sweating growlers scowl
orc draughts
pooling tiny ponds
on aging oak
 
Mix, mix
the stale
and smoke
 
No more prefrontal cortex -
go in the state
of northwest mildew
dregs
and favor, the temperate leavings
in you
 
Through a muddling
glossal gumbo - someone new
swapping tastes
 
And a brew or two