Black and Blue

The eerie blue glow

of ballgames and shows,

most places I go,

in every bar on my road.

It intrudes

and though my eyes elude

for a while

it's inevitable that I'll

draw nearer to its hue.

Though it bruises my eyes

as black and blue,

still it soothes thirsty sighs

as the draught ales do.

Talking about me,

Then talking to me,

then talking as me,

and pretending to be me.

Or imitating my style,

in loving, practiced guile,

as she walks down the aisle?

For I finally realize

the light is being drawn to me,

that it's coming to me,

in a statement of symmetry

begun on my knees.