18 January 2011

On the street where I live

“I am only a little bit mad,”
I want to tell the stranger;
But she will know
I am drunk
On more than nature’s bliss.

The moon is almost full.

A chopping-board rhythm
Calls dinner
Through the open
Windows and doors
Of young twilight.

Couples have met,
Or are making rendezvous.

I pass a man
And gravity has weighed his eyeballs down.
Down, down, down.

Fair, I am dressed so garish,
Effort would have hardly
Produced a greater dis-sympathy
Of patterns.

I may be more than a little mad
Without a cent in my pocket,
No more fruit of the vine for me,
It’s bread and butter for tea.

Everyone it seems
Is singing the same song tonight.

A lonely chord flies out some door.

No comments: