dream girl who’ll never be #51: Underground Punk Show

as i chug the eighth note along,
i flick my eyes to glimpse
snapshots of the crowd,
then feel the heavy call of bass
in my hands, look down again,
to its centipede neck.
she is watching
when i look outward,
all eyes & slight head bobbing,
hair like the curve of a cardinal,
back against pillar, farther away
than she may seem.
within me, i know i cannot break
rhythm, despite the want to
search for eyes
in the black miasma of eyelash
& dimmed venue lights.
when our set ends, i wonder
if she will still be there,
or if the music
made me hallucinate.