one-eyed-jacks
Charlie Stuip
what is it about disco? what’s so naughty about nighttime?
gleaming bass players on bright vinyl signs, ‘Happy Day Grocery’, speeding empty trains-- shotgunning in beastly platform heels. there’s something in the air tonight!
i wanna go dancing. the flashing lights of sainthood, sweaty velvet…can you do the jazz hop?
my boss tells me about going out in sophomore year,
tripping to the city with her girlfriends. a pack of cherries, all connected at the top of the stem,
we’d go to hookah bars, fifteen or sixteen, they’d always let us in…
in the end we are all glass blowers: slinky and naive, with big calloused hands.
not to mention summer nights, purple water galore! hidden snakes at the bottom of the river!
skinny dipping with joyful trepidation, as eerie sirens cross the bridge.
the terror of the joyride: the safety in it: the idle teen rebellion.
coworkers in a stranded dance--between curbs, between what it means to be here.
what are the hipsters into these days? where can i find the masses--
reliving past lives through bass struts? 7 minutes of kim deal sucking the pulp out of a
grapefruit in a walmart parking lot. i implore the iridescent mold, an antsy coat on the walls,
what it means to be a trespasser in the home of a trespasser.
like watching a streetlamp fizzle in the early hours of morning, i watch the walls go dim.
i’m lying barefoot on my floor. i want to to feel cool, i want to make it big, i want to go dancing.
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Charlie Stuip
what is it about disco? what’s so naughty about nighttime?
gleaming bass players on bright vinyl signs, ‘Happy Day Grocery’, speeding empty trains-- shotgunning in beastly platform heels. there’s something in the air tonight!
i wanna go dancing. the flashing lights of sainthood, sweaty velvet…can you do the jazz hop?
my boss tells me about going out in sophomore year,
tripping to the city with her girlfriends. a pack of cherries, all connected at the top of the stem,
we’d go to hookah bars, fifteen or sixteen, they’d always let us in…
in the end we are all glass blowers: slinky and naive, with big calloused hands.
not to mention summer nights, purple water galore! hidden snakes at the bottom of the river!
skinny dipping with joyful trepidation, as eerie sirens cross the bridge.
the terror of the joyride: the safety in it: the idle teen rebellion.
coworkers in a stranded dance--between curbs, between what it means to be here.
what are the hipsters into these days? where can i find the masses--
reliving past lives through bass struts? 7 minutes of kim deal sucking the pulp out of a
grapefruit in a walmart parking lot. i implore the iridescent mold, an antsy coat on the walls,
what it means to be a trespasser in the home of a trespasser.
like watching a streetlamp fizzle in the early hours of morning, i watch the walls go dim.
i’m lying barefoot on my floor. i want to to feel cool, i want to make it big, i want to go dancing.
← →
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