suck on painted nails, flick beer off the end,
just the index finger, long and dangerous
till it points right at me:
she says she knows me
and the fear begins to dance
around a fire set
at the beginning of the universe
that rests in the center of being.
she’s dripping into my memories,
all tomorrow’s parties,
the smoke rising,
chocolate rings of smokey blue
hashish doom:
slowing everything down
until the devils are vivid pain.
And the rain pours down windows:
rivers of wash
to put fires out
where the evening will dull
until it’s all been said
without a hint of hubris.
She does not know me,
as the shy eloquence of grace
ruins the smokey voice of filth
and the wet walk home, alone.