~”The devil is in the details”~

opening line, monologues
all end as a howl
dress rehearsals, laundromat
spin cycles; on a turntable, the Faces
smiling actress, the braking trains
screeching deserters’ names
the buzz before it slips into its groove

Tuesday weekend
almost independence day
this will be our year
the arc of infatuation
crimson and clover, chardonnay
rose-tinted lenses
the dead Otis whistle on the dock of the bay
vinyl melts in tenement heatstrokes
the tracks of tears dripping slow like Motown soul

dusk smothers orange magnificence
vague angels facing west
tattooed rainbow wings cross their backs
harboring deferred drifters’ dreams

to Silver Springs, New England
or Amarillo by morning

actually, don’t the plural nights pass slow
pink moon hanging over Los Angeles