Apothecary Craft

APOTHECARY CRAFT

Red-dusted,
uneven.
Crusty-cracked,
cowboy-booted/ brick.
beauty—
in the antiquated, enduring
fatal-flaws.

The unique, the unkempt, the ambiguous,
ones who flaunt their puppy-loves,
the lavishly rich/lavishly poor.
They stroll and
meander down the gallery.
Many look—
blinded by the apparel/boutique and cut/jeweled
restaurants.

Secretly spying the alluring,
illustrious-vintage,
curling-neon signage.
Hidden away.
The clumsy-timbered portal opens only
for me. And those who crave the delectable—
desirable.

Off to the bustling-blissful world
of the rococo. Freed/ of the
murky-misguided.
A quirky-quaint/diversified—
mix.

Comfort-lit tiles.
In the sky.
A mesmerizing mosaic
of twists and turns.
Enchantingly-concreted,
numbed carvings,
on wood. I read every—
word.

Watching and listening to
the bumblebee-wind of
patrons. And try to
sequester otherworldly-earshot,
buzzing.

Whiskey-barrel stout in hand.
And my tunnel-trip to the
world of,
uninhibited, tinsel-tinned land—
artistry.

The solvent-speckled mirrors/
wonderous show. Pharmaceutically-relieved,
resplendent, reveler-regulars. Faces—
walked with life. Radiant
mixes and rothskeller-grub.
A cacophony of cotton-coated
slurred speech/
consumes.

The myriad-music
starts/
to sound slippery,
like a Berlioz
symphony without a
conductor.

Onemore/Onemore/Onemore—
fulfilled with napkins
and pen to create the
sloshy-besotted
ferocious scribbling.
Yes, still the Apothecary—
crafts.
All are/
En fuego!