A minor Twist of Brautigan Double-Poured

At Vesuvio Café you will find me in twenty years
hugging north beaches and cigarette machines
with a grace slipping slick upon exit courses I 
take inside buildings of time jockeying crowds
of double-pours and double-dealings atop
bluffs jumping rope with dry fault lines
scuffing turtlenecks and stashes in
the hounds of uncounted bushes 
that I have loved now speaking
to my head in sign language; 
single-handed is the spray  
of Russian songs on a 44
one at a time and then 
I'll be gone-the still 
all around giving 
my pen lessons 
when to end.