After Midnight Jazz

There is a cat screeching outside in the park. A thousand lighters

click in the night, fires start

and die.

 

There are ten moons following you home tonight. They trail

behind the car, balloons on strings

up high.

 

There are flowers that breathe only in the dark. A lover walks

home alone, her heels in her hand rubbing against

her thigh.

 

There are jazz bars that come alive only for the after-after-parties. In sound

proof basements, ten stories down

below, where you can see

the sky.