Fake hardwood and matching gold teeth.
You lived across from the Oakdale Discotheque.
You were rippin capsules,
Your brain was wet,
You knew all the words.
Cola bottle shake baby
I was a cup shaped receptacle,
I was stuck between plastic fruit and la cucarachas,
I watched with one eye open.
The tenor moaned of post-matrimony under a pulsing discoball,
Touching himself slowly with sleeping hand.
We danced like tire swings.
You lay on your face,
In a tomato field by our house.
A halo circled each of your toes:
Insects that wanted more juice.
You were a pestle forgotten in the stalks,
Left remembering soil.
The sun fell as I ran.
My headphones slipped down,
But a deep throated singer still hummed:
Freaking my mind out
so far out, oh my
I can’t unremember
Even if I want to.
You would pretend to be Greek
while I watched Athens swing between your legs.