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The conjurer at night Invitation to four-twenty north:The conjurer at night by ~mooncowboy
to huddle together on the steps and breathe in
the same clear cold, to talk hot and
strong in a smoke-ring circle
and fall asleep on a soiled Persian rug
(the mudstained one where we wiped the early-autumn storm
from our boots),
wrapped in prickly dirt-brown hospital blankets
that smell like dish rags and detergent.
But no--
I excused myself, stole away
to instead stand on my own porch, where
the lights are strung up as always, like Christmas
(but it's hardly November).
And the trees south of me are dark;
they are deserted and empty with capillary limbs, and
I shut my burning pink sticky eyes
