Thursday night (mine) (poem).



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