Older by Stephen Jarrell Williams

I ache
between the shakes of excitement,
seeing what I want to see
under my cap of perception,

playing a harmonica,
dancing in a bad place
with a bad girl,

painting her gold
later in my apartment,

lost in her young years,
she does me and leaves.

Now angels floating over my bed,
sticking needles in my dimples.

I'm suddenly old,
wanting another day,
another night and spit between the sheets,

saying my prayers in this prick of a world.