Tueday's Open-Mike Night

our very own song
an intimate a cappella karaoke;
you know all the words
to last discos, last days,
black lengths, the hours
of like-minds:
the words
I peel off like sunburned
blistered skin,
the ghost of follicles punctured,
like paper dolls made
translucent in the windows,
passing-by you
bring me my carousel
& a shotgun,
an axe to free Athena from it all;
lighting up, cigarettes
like lost days, or the dark
sky of my life, like fireworks.
So many charming philosophies,
said the man, with his own
rough grove of darkness
& a hat for camping,
the red field of a year of
my own growth
and the millet to feed
religious sparrows;
the shearing of masks;
I'd know those eyes
anywhere, come
home with me tonight,
(until you gave me your sweater,
I didn't even know
I was cold) but mostly,
be there
still quiet and ready
to open in the morning