at the lounge. . .

in the smoky jungle,
like apes the people swing,
they don't know why they do it
it might be just a fling,
over by the jukebox
some drunken cowboys dance,
beer with whiskey chasers
takes them to romance,
off he common wall
just beyond the fringe,
is where i sometimes ponder
and hope i don't unhinge,
this place is full of stories
some true, some make-believe
most folks here are honest
but some live to deceive,
they step into the mirror
in the winking of an eye,
and slide into the slipstream
where the limit is the sky.