After midnight on the narrow street
high on a memory magnolia sweet
like a magnet where you don't belong
smiling lady sings a lonesome song
Across the plaza, under the bridge
where the cognoscenti live
down where a butterfly becomes a dove
what in the devil are you thinking of?
No mashed potato, no lime and gin
where the crows get black
sleep on the foxglove, dream of a peach
on a honey stack.
Hands like a swan's wing, feet like a hoof
slip the landlord, sleep on the roof
and in the morning, fleece the mark
mix with the rando's who live in the park
No chocolate candies, no baseball game
where the crows count six
collect the cats eyes, call off the dogs
keep the licorice sticks.
______
Ooh, so good! A terrific Romantic Dystopia, Wordsworth list in the streets and under bridges, homeless words of worth. Where the crows count six indeed.
ReplyDelete*lost, not list
DeleteLove the scene you've painted here, Shay! Very stirring, makes me think of that liminality that exists between seasons changing. Makes me feel like I'm on some American street somewhere, but an alienness that feels good to me :)
ReplyDeleteWell, you rocked the list. Love this line "Hands like a swan's wing, feet like a hoof" As always you impress me with your visual story telling.
ReplyDeleteThis is like a song. I feel like you should put it to music. Like Susie says, it's so visual!
ReplyDeleteEach stanza is a visionary rose - my mind went so many ways with this, creating a number of "stories". I read it four times and the sound of it is wonderful.
ReplyDelete"and in the morning, fleece the mark
ReplyDeletemix with the rando's who live in the park"
i really like this "king rat" poem. it has a tom waits feel, i can hear his gravel-tone in it... great to read outloud, well done... oh captain my captain!