a girl with a tiny waist and a tiny vocabulary asks

for your number. it’s a party at juan’s house

bluish, reverberating. he got new speakers 

and the floor reminds you of a ship’s deck.

yellow hair girl, (you’ve privately nicknamed)

plays tetris and tennis

so if you touch her, she’s sure to bounce back. 

she plays her eyelashes

like violins, tossing froth and teeth.

you’d like to be hook lined and sunk

in her but save-me moons

tinkle from across the room—

 the white opal earrings of a new red herring.

luminescent. 

cloud and wandering,

someone brashly starts to sing, then

Ha Ha HAS drop like comets.

opal

swings her head around

for something — the blue neck tie of an old blue lover

or maybe an honest stranger. 

estranged from opal’s sadness

from uncles and oracles —

and parties that split like stills down the middle. 

dripping wet with glut,

you are an astronaut 

searching suddenly for stardust with the hubble telescope.

But Juan brought bottles and beatniks

so you clutch on someone else’s hips

flexing to

forget the interruption.