Thursday night (mine) (poem).

Illastep

 

Three dudes making music

on a rolled-out rug

 

Outside the table umbrellas

are lined with lights

 

One red guitar

One guitar with four shining knobs

 

Ian like a young Allen Ginsberg

on the drums

 

The lips of the man I kiss

taste like new smoke

 

People are talking and people

are nodding along

 

All my hair is safely stowed

underneath my hat

 

Good god thank you, this

is exactly what I wanted out of my twenties

 

 

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