The city with you was a dream
two days when the sun didn’t set
you don’t set on me now,
resist the night
Delirious night has nothing to offer
Wander around the graveyard?
And then to The Park,
same Someplace Else?
You know their numbers by heart, come on now,
Let the guitars be thrown
Let them walk out the door,
Not you,
Treacherous night has nothing to offer you
Crow’s feet don’t show, you say
potholes neither,
your anomalied day shrouded in velvet, looks long and promising
for me, in the night,
there’s La Martiniere somehow
and a picture of me with a violin
a delectable boy with his brown beard and French accent
talking about Bach
I didn’t like his fumbling fingers
and yours are strumming a dark tune
with nobody humming in the background
You are alone, so strum me someday, play a never-ending song
What’s there for you in the death of night anyway?
Watching the stars? I’ll watch with you
If you find a place,
Can you find one for me too?
3 comments:
just visited with this poem on spilled into bloodlessnes and wanted to say hello
excellent post
can't thank you enough because i can barely manage some prose, let alone try my hand at poetry. was a little worried about how people will respond.
i read your comments on Enemy's page. and silently say a hello every time.
u strum well ...this time...u ran ur fingesr down a painting right to the point where the paint spills over outside the canvas..u touched some.
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