Star With a Suitcase (Poem)

Turning the tune along its own dial
knees bouncing at the beat
decimated by the very notion
that one day, no battery will
have enough fuel
for this merry-go-sound.

Tried and true makes marksman blue
the muse tips its hat
record store bore
Sycamore drawer
you antsy barkeep, you.

You were a star with a suitcase
anxious for your moon
marking you tardy
in turn, late for the party
taking black at the sun’s
barbeque.

Then you eroded
smashed yourself into
funny little fragments
of light, and worry.
One of those pieces
became the day we met
body to body
light dragging itself
along the length of your height.

Draped among the confines
of your shoulders
there rests a key.

It is g minor
you are still the star
it’s just that your tune
actually carries
outside of your car.

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