I push the water with my middle finger (I found my circus)

with dimly lit interiors that obscure women's faces,
the sedate pace mimicking that of small Florida forever towns.

I will never write a
best-selling novel of the same name.

real discoveries are in my past, 
or sitting across from her at the bar.

this comes halfway through,
and most of the negative effects are readily on display.

god dang, 
a new spin on the cycle of poetic violence.

I just want to
interrogate a culture that enables swill, and a softening.