Wednesday, April 1, 2020

The Orient Express

Stagelit streets descending
as in Tangier
or Todos Santos
or an Albuquerque by the sea
w/Jesus Christ
(or is it Keith Richards?)
riding across the beach on a crocodile

The salt spray
the stuttering neon archives
& the slow fade
bending harmonicas in the dark
concert hall of the heart

Even if the dance goes sideways
we know the spirit moves
has moved
is moving
though not perhaps as we had at first imagined

I no longer recognize the face that
stares back at me from the bathroom mirror
but that's okay
it's clear that whoever he is he
doesn't recognize me either
though we're both wearing the same Yater t-shirt
w/the blood stain on the left shoulder
as in the Palatine Anthology

Meanwhile the marine layer flattens out
as light & shadow trade places
excavating the protocols of redemption
dropping leadweight epiphanies in the green room
& I'm digging my way to China
w/a plastic spoon