Smoking Outside the Avant-Garde
Peter Gibbon

Our smells mingle;
Smoke and moisture
Plume from out of our mouths,
Float into the sky:
Alcoholic clouds that my mind rests on.

Stop hunching over,
the weather's never gonna change
you might as well just relax those shoulders, give into the cold.
This is only Ottawa,
It's not Russia or anything.

Come on in
to that place of pronunciation
between passion and slurring.
Come on in,
but leave your ego out here.

The bar looks warm from the outside,
friendly, attentive faces.
The mic is sensitive,
feedback is easy to come by.

Just give it your all,
and you'll receive it all back.
Bear your soul
And you won't be naked
Lonely.


We're all here together,
This shelter from the cold.
And we'll be here every last Thursday,
Right down to the filter
Of our very last butt.







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