at the video-store
that was part rustic
saloon where i met
my old high-school

at the target store
where i couldn’t remember
if i worked at and plus
i was naked.

when i served tables
that were two counties
apart and had to tend
them both with a
borrowed scooter.

at the room with
the floor that slid
down into awake.

in the volcano
with the massive drummer
who beat the lava that
bounced us into the
sparkling light tunnel
of dancing.

to the table bukowski
sat alone drinking
starry crystal
from a glass.

we’ve ridden.


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