falling…
falling…
driving through this hole
so fucking frigid,
and you wore red
thought you had bled
were we really dead?
tonight the French invaded Poland
in a blizzard
using dogs to sniff out the enemy,
the Polish cats were ripped and eaten alive
screeching down fire alleyways
escaping to be free again
like me again?
I am such a hopeless son of a bitch!
Changes wears a green scarf to enclose
what little warmth resides,
stands alone atop my supposed mountain
velvet snows lost earth companion,
and when she and I run together
there is no one else in the world,
we are shoeless assassins,
drumming,
flippant,
unassuming,
grabbing flowers to ease the pain
occasionally looking back to remember
some soft melody
once skated to
moving across a breezy frozen north country lake
can you remember each of our dreams
or am I the only one
lost in the music?
I confess: when I see you I touch you too
no difference,
suckers are we to use these autumn changes
to ride through our changes,
but it’s been a lot easier
this time around
finding you
and not counting those transparent times
of freely declaring mindlessness,
selflessness,
when we were willing to sacrifice our sanity-ness
so pass the deal, Jackeen:
these memories are merely transparent love affairs
left to die inside our western heads-
we remain that certain clay in each other’s hands,
spinning each other’s wheels, chasing something great
back to wherever it came from,
somewhere way far from any light
1983, NYC