broke another telephone

A nose full of dust- floating to the moon or bust
with a piece of plastic and a baggie of magic
in hand; we play in a band

We make noise with our fingertips, with our voices,
but really we'd like to sing with our hearts
directly

Holding the microphone up to our chests,
plugging the P.A. system
into our ventricles;

A dusty nose, tip-toeing across dusty roads
heading home, no!- heading towards
the opposite of home

Cold. And alone.

Broke another telephone, broke my first official bone-
buying things we don't wish to own
listening to music drone

On and on until dawn, until sun rises
reflected most majestically inside
your irises

Behind them is everything. Worthy of seeing.