The bass is a fist against my chest

The bass is a fist against my chest.

I’m here to give the dark a test.

The girl behind the bar has eyes

that haven't seen the winter rise.

The song was a hit before she could sit,

and I am just a part of it.

I stop myself before I talk.

The line is drawn in heavy chalk.

My hand on the wood is a map of blue,

veins like rivers pushing through

the leathered skin of a different time.

I’m paying for a drink with a heavy dime.