(American dreamer; Star of Karuna; Moon of Pity; Ti Jean… . b silent & real)
Lime Street, 1 a.m.
strung between a lost train of thought
& the silence of an empty station,
tongue-tip worrying a lemon pip
in a wasted tooth, still tasting
the squeezed juice of midnight
I tease the notion that love’s a big deal after all.
When mister death
comes clawing at my threads
like a frisky leper
it’s the one thing he’ll be looking for.
As you wave at me & your ticket flutters
to the cold stone floor & limestone echoes steps
beneath the domes & tunnels as the train arrives
he’ll be the fella with the homeless rag
wheedling for nowt tonite, only waiting it out
for the chance to wrap us about his shoulders
like a widow’s ratty stole.
So walking each other home
beyond the wind’s music in the coffin groves
& the fidgety spirits of half-friends we’ve left
talking up theories in the speakeasy’s womb-glow,
fencing night’s dubious traps,
still in their cups, vibing off
their near unassailable delusions,
we’ll know that love’s a pretty good call
&the sky a benevolent madness
of hushed clouds rushing the just ice of stars.