Average Day

Propulsion, speed, Opera

Bowling down the road in sleepless coattails

And the same gloves you slept in –

What a gorilla, devoid of inspiration

Wallowing in howling sin, desperate as a star

Ready to supernova. Arrested for jaywalking

And screaming at the police for offences

Mismanaged. Work in the morning,

Sad wailing musical pipe dream romance –

Stale coffee. Dreams written as tattoos.

Every eye is on you like Apollo: a crumbling obelisk

Cursing to the dirt, asking the earth

“Why aren’t I rich yet?” – Some kind of prayer.

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Sunday Afternoon

On this afternoon the city exhaled and

Allowed the blue to linger far beyond the

Usual yellowing of the deep night. There were

Streams of people all passing me by, going

In the opposite direction like the pale wisps

Of clouds that swam above me. I walked like a

Dance, haphazard and unbound and people

Had already started getting drunk. Some complained,

Some were Dickensian in cold hotel doorways –

Women like swans with their heads bowed

Trying to get from A to B. All this in artifice

And I hear the unrestrained hum of evening life

Being lived perfectly by so many.

Glitterati

Like a deplorable trail of smoke

From the final cigarette of a bum

Who had it all and then lost it all,

You fade into the air and are forgotten.

 

Your body falls through shadows

Like hollow bones in a grave,

But you are lost, drunk and unfeeling

And you let the ether claim you.

 

Then like a lover expectant

Lying on an unmade bed with red sheets,

You try to sleep but your mind is in oil

And your eyes see angels.

 

You never woke, you never slept.

Like a cut out headline you imprint then decay,

Leaving only remnants of a burnt page

Dancing in the lost space of a man’s mind.

 

Champagne, no name, never to age,

Your eyes say they have seen it all

But you shiver at the sight of the poor

And your feet bleed as you dance.

 

Do not fool with the glitterati of the city.

Music

Would you improvise with me?

It could be a simple symphony,

A cacophony of stars in melted blue,

Swirling winds and moonlight too,

Shades of night, a pallet in our hands

Complex melodies like falling grains of sand,

Thick like smoke, will you hold this tune?

That weaves around the lonely room,

Fingers deep in a cascade of champagne

Waterfall, bright, diamond cold rain.

Would your piano play classical?

Or would it fall into the fantastical,

On its knees into a dream that we both feel

One we could keep but never make real,

Is that not what music is for?

An ephemeral, erotic, opening of the dawn,

Why the feminine notes float I do not know

But I know they cause no ripples to grow

And spread over your silver trading rivers,

Ships, golden as a waltz, send shivers

Down the wire spines that move as we move

In this inferno, this ballroom of truth.

I hold the notion that it is quiet now,

Listen with me, silently, it is quiet now.