New Order

The night-parties

down the summer blocks

in the sleepy city.

The waves of 

eighties synth drifting

between air conditioner

hums and barking dogs.

In this humid smell

of July, the night

dripping with 

dancing bodies

under the wicked 

disco cosmos.

The recklessness

ascribed our situation.

The necessity of

our midnight plight

of dancing.

Our crazed longing

after what was 

always so far gone,

never to come,

so we shook it out

instead. 

Got loose and low

and shouted 

with the red party cups

in our hands.

This was the future

we were fearing,

denying in 

our starry-eyed

beating hearts-

our whispered

dreams slurred in 

with hazy disasters

of fleeting youth.

As we were driving far

and fast with

no restraint

into a sunrise 

with mysterious colors,

tinted with the misery

of modern youth.

The car pulsing steadily

along the horizon with

New Order in the tape deck.