Romance

Green fluorescents 

pale the night sky 

Swaying like a drunken preacher

And the stars 

even at this distance smell 

of pickling brine 

The moon this handsome fellow

stuck two fingers down his throat

What a hunk                And how he pukes!

Smiles life lessons odorless 

beer 

sorrow spiritus and soot in lashes 

When he’s done I’ll drag him to bed 

After all he never sleeps 

And then comes 

the golden spike of my program 

Juggling bottles 

inside them some water sand and sticky feathers 

a queen of hearts 

half drowned

 

I have to do it fast 

so they at least resemble 

fireworks 

love’s vertigo 

the white smiles of clowns 

the tender pirouettes of cormorants and wild geese 

the sparking spindly circle 

of life 

I have to do it fast 

so it can’t be mimicked 

So the polite cleanshaven man in the first row can’t stand

pat me fatherly on the shoulder 

and say “Friend we can excuse your madness 

but we know it’s all just the tiring work of able hands

So why the illusions friend 

why the illusions?” 

I have to do it so fast that no one can tell 

how much my hands are shaking

and with a vigilance so vast 

as vast as my fear 

that these otherwise ordinary bottles 

flying through the air yearning to echo 

love fireworks people and birds 

could break 

Just like that 

the slip of shaking hands 

and earth’s gravity 

 

I finish without applause 

you’ll see me tomorrow 

feeding the gulls above the river with my stories

and spitting at the sky making clouds 

for the holy moon 

he’s hungover 

and someone needs to do it 

before everyone else leaves for work