Faster than the speed of light

At heart we’re caged beasts,
or elves purified by future
service, ministries of love.
We unpack acoustic guitars,
nylon-stringed, our spirits lit
after four days of neglect,
and we notice the pool table,
smoke-curtained. Balls
rattle out, and Johnny inserts
a coin. We start to play,
the sound system spitting –
static off the window’s neon?
Black ball dips into a pocket,
Johnny cueing, on the black,
a long shot. It all happens
faster than the speed of light;
we’ve died on stage before.