A patchwork of squares:
russet, lime, and khaki, sewn with gold
somewhere west of Tulsa
and east of Wardell’s bar.
Pool—All Night Pool
Chalkdust falls from your hands.
You rack, shatter the set.
You always said reach for the stars.
You drop the purple, the orange, the yellow, the red.
A granary roof:
holes, rusted spires, jagged beams.
Cropdust falls from the eaves.
I always said the higher you climb.
You kiss your lucky cue stick twice.
You stroke the smooth felt.
Shoot the moon, man, shoot the moon.
All Night Pool
Inches from impalement:
black rage, green fire.
I twist a spike into a pogo stick,
vault that toothy dream shack, fly for miles.
Glowing from my ride,
I dismount at your side.
I am a witch.
You are a shark.
We play pool all night.