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I’ll See You at the Tavern, Bring Your Tales
by Linda Imbler
Stories brought in,
stories taken out.
Word weavers with tall pitchers,
spilling drinks and memories.
Stories re-spun, evolved, stellar.
A place where the lonely
do not so feel the stillness of time.
Their tears postponed.
A place where the mad ones come,
to confess and to dream,
to change their realities,
and their biographies.
Narrators in straight backed chairs,
acting as high priests,
wielding their bottles as microphones,
their bar stools their pulpits.
As shadows bloom while night creeps forward,
and shades of gray fill the room,
the high hats have as much chance
to fall from a stool as anyone else.
I’ll see you at the tavern,
bring your tales.
by Linda Imbler
Stories brought in,
stories taken out.
Word weavers with tall pitchers,
spilling drinks and memories.
Stories re-spun, evolved, stellar.
A place where the lonely
do not so feel the stillness of time.
Their tears postponed.
A place where the mad ones come,
to confess and to dream,
to change their realities,
and their biographies.
Narrators in straight backed chairs,
acting as high priests,
wielding their bottles as microphones,
their bar stools their pulpits.
As shadows bloom while night creeps forward,
and shades of gray fill the room,
the high hats have as much chance
to fall from a stool as anyone else.
I’ll see you at the tavern,
bring your tales.
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