1992 Dave Awl
When we were young, younger 
than we are now, we used to press
wine out of the darkness:
soft hands shaking we'd find the spot
at the base of the moon's throat,
at the foot of the old dead tree:
press awkwardly, burst the grape,
it tasted of blood and glamour,
melancholy and memory, the goldenrod
charge of libido and the strong 
arms of the moon god's madness,
the singing of insects the footsteps
of guitars and dinosaurs--a torn
David Bowie poster--yes, 
spirits between the earth and sky,
a conspiracy of trees and windows,
sexual angel crowned by midnight,
the sun murmured words through 
caves of sleep and the ship came, 
the enormous ship of your future 
came looming in the night and you 
were not afraid, you kissed the stranger, 
you heard the angels, you closed your 
eyes and you jumped.