reverie

between here & there is nowhere

It’s cold.

an icy wind bites my face with sharp blue teeth.

late.
I’m late.
I’m always late. Though I haven’t a clue for what.
Hungry and looking for food, I walk quickly.
Now and then, a jog, until I remember that jogging kills.
Whoa.

I hear music floating from an open window in the sky,
flute and harp,
wistful Japanese melodies diffuse into the night air like perfume,
a halo of rainbows around streelights,
the roads are like mirrors, reflecting everything - Chacgall in fire and phosphorescence.

I turn up my collar as drops of rain slide chill down my neck.

near a place they call the Rocks,
my footsteps ring out like 30 pieces of silver on weathered cobbles.
(so I walk funny) ...
the rain stops and a southerly bends clouds into boomerangs.

soon I am down near the wharves, frozen to the bone.
a big moon floats in the harbour like a bent silver coin.
in the darkness a launch cuts through the silence.
closer by, a groan and crying from secret moorings
unseen boats held tight against a rising tide.

From my pocket I remove a bent and crushed cigarette.
Heat from a paper match warms my face for a moment,
but the flame dies quickly like true love in a faithless world.

now hurrying past the black cavemouths of alleys and lanes...
sometimes I hear footsteps in the shadows and I break into a run.
a dog barks,
the cigarette disintegrates,
my coat bursts into flames.
I take it off and piss on it.

relief.

Later... I stop high on an embankment.
Below, stars writhe like snakes across the water.
I light another cigarette,
Whoa! There’s something in this !
What good luck!

I inhale deeply,
savour the acrid fumes,

yeah.

I think of Madame Blavatsky,
Charles Baudelaire ...

graffiti on a billboard ...

consume,
be silent,
die.

come home Plato, it was only a rash

yeah.