The Young, the Aged, the Big Show
(To have the disposition)
of those who measure coolness
by how long one can make it
at the party: the hippest, the last up
to see the sun rise, the ones
who make out
at bacon mornings
to an orchestra of coffee
and eggs with stars
still in their eyes and nose
and stars still
on their tongues.
And, of those who measure time
out at a party often,
by how much one can take
of the party, by how much party
one is able to stand and dance
on sore feet–
until the sun rises?–
before the call to bed (ridden,
like a locomotive) is too loud
to ignore, the whistle: damn-
these people are true
artists, trendsetters, really open
books– I just can’t.
Later I choke myself
off, wile out alone at home (sifting
the night for poems), prescriptively
feeding the darkness
on the edge of town, an outlier
to the headliners
of the real, big show.