Thursday, April 11, 2013

P.S. Comings and Goings

A place I’ve never been before but in my mind,
I long to go there with you
And live another life full of brownstone buildings, and cobbled roads
Old sections of old towns where all the young people meet
In clothes I’ve never seen before.

I’ll work in a kitchen, evenings and nights
With the Hispanics and the Asians,
Cooking food for the locals and the all nighters;
I lie on the job application so nobody knows.

But you don’t know who I am either,
Even as we dance up and down deserted late-night streets
Of 50s glory, and the caterwaul of the man
Who has no direction and yet is free
Echoes along cracked, shadowed walls.

I’ve seen in your eyes the shattered hope
Of somewhere new and holy,
Smoke along the sides of stained walls
Moving to the distant, hollow music.

We end up there, and make sense later
When our whole discordant lives
Are not before us, but behind us 
In that same cloud of dispersing smoke. 
 photo mustache-_0005_mr-belvedere_zps5f3b4da6.jpg

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