bartender blues

poetry always in his pocket
getting washed in denim
turning blue
love, the language his pen
relates to
bares his soul writing about
loneliness at bars and pretty
girls that can't love
emotional blackmail and bitter
scars
sits in his underwear 
on his backporch smoking
half medicated cigarettes
staining his hands
writing his bartender blues
finding clarity, sanity
beneath shimmering stardust
can't sleep, heart's too full
of stories alive with passion
and pain
with his front row seat to
a million walk away's 
I'm still looking for a flicker
a small light in his eyes
to know if he can see me