Altar Ego

So I’m downtown Los Angeles
ArtWalk Thursday eve
And I’m above an old bank

The 2nd floor floor
A made-up floor
Recreated, false-bottomed

Two-by fours
Clog the pores
Of lower floors

And its eight-foot ceilings
Foist bulged reliefs
Too large for the room

An albatross of castaway decades
Red bulbs blare brightness
On stamped concrete artwork

And live jazz for hipsters
I sit in a pew
And sip rye whiskey

Face a dancer’s scaly sequence
Thoughts wander to
Eighty years ago

How some teller stared
At the relief
That looms

In dusk’s distant squint
How he pictures
An escape life

Unlike his own
Sees my ghost
In the future

In a hot-gut breath
There I am

On a church pew
With a whiskey
Jazz-funk buzzes

His green tie grips
His Adam’s apple
Like a priest’s collar

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