The Squeezed Juice of Midnight

(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.

Ade Jackson