Tuesday, September 16, 2008

Siglo. (2)

And there's more
in the night
when the wind
sets
the house
creaking
(the rope
you think
I swing
by
which I don't
I only hang
pitiful
and blue
rocking back and forth
with the wood
for company
and naught else)
and
there's more
as the man and I
sit bare to the wind
and care unspoken for each other
taking solace
in a piece of cheese
by a window
both wrapped
in the absence of them
a tiny touch
beneath the table
which I was once
able
to do
without hesitation
(it may never happen again
so
please pour another
for a poor rotten lover)
and so
(soshite)
(dakara)
(shigata ga nai)
tonight
I simply toast
this fine wine
bled
by a fine man.

I simply toast:

(Hey friend, I'm here for you.
I wish I was true.
But I'm here for you.)

"If my adventure scots to be ending
well may yours continue
my fine stand up friend."

So we drink
on the roof
too old to cry

in public at least.

And the wind
makes me remember
how cold
I
truly
am.

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