dark haired ones
with lava for eyes
and jean jackets
covering bodies made of
corduroy.
the concrete floors
that we grew from
before today-
the tangles i live in
the empty doorway
and the feedback from
the guitars, like echoes
of their voices on the
other end of my
telephone- beckoning
the moon from the sky,
and scrambling it
like some wet
and willing egg
in my stomach.
those days,
long gone.