Emily jamming in Joshua Tree

After dinner, we file into the parking lot.
Full of food and tired of talk,
We are silent except for Sam’s flip flops.
A car sits in almost every spot.
Stars wait, covered by glowing grey ink
As harsh white street lamps buzz and blink.
Moist misty breeze jostles nearby palm trees,
Pushing dew to hitchhike my blue jacket sleeves.
Laurie leads over the asphalt canvas
Sideways, inches from damp door handles.
An old industrial fan groans at us,
Crying, dripping dirt-brown eyeliner.
Far off traffic hums with muttering bums,
And behind us glows the diner.

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A long exposure with some friends on Mauna Kea

Your light connects me to glorious hue,
A flick of your switch unleashes your glow
And it illuminates, at first blinding yellow,
Then calm, incandescent orange. Your view
Allows me to see what’s true,
To watch any colorful thing I desire.
Like an ancient stone torch on fire,
I religiously worship you.
But when your light goes low,
I find myself unsure of things I know.
Bitter black barricades trap me,
And I cower below my cold, thin throw.
Please lamp, for now, smother my dread.
Throw your warm white blanket over my bed.

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