bario and the mescaline sisters

there's magical matematics
in the soft air tonight. thunder
tenses some other part
of the sky, away from this
mist, cusping skin, good
wines, food to share.

the laugher falls , imbricated
across petals of small flame, conversing
with yesterdays and d left
hand palms. life is bizarre
in small increments, like she wraps


a headscarf around her head,
becomes the party's gypsy
goes home with an earring
in her right ear. the earring is turquois
and silver. she uses it when the magic
needs turning, sacred stones dispelling
myth. she loses it when the wild gets a ride
to the head zone. pacing doesn't help.

later he puts louis armstrong
on the ipod, she's all like i love
this music, her smile's from a smokey
nightclub, he says i put it on
so we could dance. she's all like
who leads,but they manage to figure
it out, and her capris turn into a silk sheath
his shorts into dark blue linen trousers
closed eyes in the off broadway club
where glasses clink, ten patrons
remaining in the club converse
with the horn, and the horn weeps black and white
notes into tomorrow, where they hold
each other like strangers learning to dance