12 months in Arizona without my wife,
A place where whole neighborhoods disappear
And new ones spring up overnight,
And at a certain time every evening there's a hole
Where anything seems possible.
The guys with shining hair would visit at that time
And say the names of girls we'd met like holy codes
And pull me to yet another crazy rave
Where all the girls were sleeveless and drank jack.
I talked of how to manifest reality
To sad lashes in a Hawaiian-themed sandbox,
And got a number slipped into my phone
While I ate a sampler plate of Burundi ndagaa...
I wish that I could tell you
Of bonfires and eyes, breasts and full moons,
Huevos rancheros and kisses and curves
On slow-waking sun-pale mornings,
But there always was a world too far removed,
So I slept on my own sofa
Under a million possible stars.
The guys with the shining hair
Didn't let things like that distract them,
Still they wanted, they said, what I had,
Whatever it was.
