gypsy play date.

the glisten of the half full bottles, the tint
of your sparkling eyed-smiles. tonight, we celebrate
what must be forgotten, what must be lost in mind's
soulful, doubtful, misleading, beautiful missile of memory
we paint the bar, the four walls, the felt on kinky pool
tables red, as if the town itself is unworthy of our stories.

we float on liquid air, we stand on acid legs, we give no thought
of all the damage we can do to a floor when we forget we've one
to stand on. trapezoids become our stage, discos balls our rhythm.
distant guitars, with distant stances behind unveiled faces of talent
rip their strings to shreds with unihibited verocity. this is why we come here
this is how we play.

we bleed lust from our dewy barefeet in this night
of foggy recollection and moonlit gnashing.