Perspicacious, Serenity, Blue

chris the poet Our beings are crowded inside like a dark dive bar on Saturday nights where blue cigarette smoke hangs over billiard balls in motion, their clacking sounds country and kin to the jukebox, the din of 5 drinks becoming 6, a routine of chaos become serenity of sorts, but when newcomer thoughts and impressions descend upon the joint: confusion! Suspicion! The chatterers will chatter their theories and the prodders will prod, all trying to work some sense into the room: brain, gut, body, intuition, goosebumps... Well it's like this: sometimes the brain is slow to the jump--forsooth, partner, the belly is the perspicacious one, so listen