laughing,
with eyes shut.
It's always like outer space.
last night
I had a dream
that I was in the back of the bar
watching a happy version
of myself walk in the door.
ten past one,
somewhere.
take a cab there.
or a space shuttle.
or a time machine.
lets listen
with our ears
to the sound of the wind
with our fears.
jazz torsos hurt still
but they are getting better
by the days' afternoons.
can we camp here?
the fire is already going.