Nestled on the boulevard of pretentious lifestyles,

a grizzled cantina whispered in its Kafkaesque gloom

of lives lived in surreal states of grace

that shrunk to become shadow when four crossed the threshold

and bridged the ethereal gap between realism’s phantasy.


Stirred alkaloids sipped in the saloon’s bitter ale ambience

by a court held in subdued utterances in a darkened corner

and wonders on the strangers that sat

releasing the heat of their knowledge and anima

in a steam that seeps and disquietly fills the room.


Observations around and over shoulders by the newcomers

grip souls. Regulars look and talk without speaking,

singles try to ignore befouled seeds dredged

by an ancient malevolence.


And then when eye contact by one reveals the truth

the four stand, having made only an appearance

and leaving their presence known they departed,

followed by slitted eyes until the front door slammed.

One mounted a pale horse, and the four rode away.


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