Boosting music and screaming at the windshield,
remember the dance and the army man shuffle
at the Christmas party wearing bright gold box bows
on asses and clapping to the beat and on time.
Matched up like teeth on gears
motivating the engine to go.
Faster, slower, faster. Screaming at the windshield.
Stand next to the tree and wrap tinsel
around the neck and spin around and around
until caged in itchy silver and red and shimmer green.
Without falling over. Slosh noggin and
better than what's ever been. Come out of the skull
like sunshine rainbow lions.
Road and sidewalk and telephone pole
parking meter and dog walkers and mail carrier
stretch to vanishing points
screaming at the windshield. Shatter glass
goes like glitter in the kiss
and the second and a half
after the music cuts short
circuited memory.
Come home, maybe?
Pick glass out of the face. Be sincere. Dance
the whole way home and roll up the walls
of street fronts where footsteps fail. Clap
to the beat. Doing bad robots and
stub toes on coffee tables in the right times
at the wrong places and laughter and touch
hand games woven inbetween
to kill for
these days.
Straight on 'til the morning. Third star on the right.
