Curdled body butter frozen in my gloves

Gets patted down on the ashtray table,

Last on the sign-up sheet tonight

With a drowsy signature of ballpoint drips. I leave it reeking of rancid vanilla

Where my bare wrist limps across the wood.

Shivering shelter dogs behind the microphone

Reeking of two gifted ciders for effort

Wag the desperate winter out of my clothes,

Amused by the statements in my jacket on a chair.

Should’ve brought a tube of lip balm, should’ve brought my capo,

I kiss myself nervously on the inside,

Just one anemic tongue haranguing my molars.

I’m introduced like artificial tears to a contact lens mid-twist,

Eyes open little stages momentarily in sympathy

And get buckled in for their own ride later.

I send a message for a different faux attention

To the closest silhouette that rolls through my phone,

Two cuter neighborhoods away.

We’re all misled bumper cars in a warehouse here,

Waiting for a tumbling stomach written into song,

One by one, crashing upward to our turn.