capture no.1
un-
straight,
(like a)
tin-can shot
at
fleet-fragileimpossibleunheralded
happiness,
both wide-eyed barrels
staring down
wanderlusted glances
through smoke-crusted tomorrownights in
some back-bay bar where
the
backup guitarist
looks a little like you
and i’m a little
in love
with possibilities, running too
many yellows
before the needle
goes to zero.
