Dirty '70s

And it’s night in my 99th street basement

Please, I hope the phone ringing is for me

We can get out in the cool air, content

Absolved under the musical debris.

We’ll get high, breathe in smells of creosote

The smoke stack our beacon, leading us home

Make love on my damp bed, thumb on my throat

Staring at ferns and daisies in the gloam.

There are still fireflies by the swale

The vibrant lull before we’re pulled under 

By Jenny Greenteeth, and we’ll both exhale

Glad it’s finally happened, world asunder.

The brown, bare mountain glowers from the east

She knows it’s far too late to be appeased.

For MLK