18 September 2007

at the bridge motel

dear dk

the view from crack balcony
to downtown is
if you like that sort of thing,
the city is burning itself into
another quotidian night and
there is always,
for some reason, more
room to toss
another log onto the fire -
look at the great
eminence on the hill
last night we listened to records
of a lost world
spun by our downstairs
neighbor - right now
through the floor
its the city of new orleans -
and again
and its beauty
does not diminish -
it hurt
to recall how much i had believed
that world of
the old tune promises -
i could list five songs right here
right now that
i took as articles of faith
and seen that faith
beaten if not crushed.

last night i saw two
fellas outside your
closed motel talking
and the one said to the other -
did you sell me that
album on
ebay? -
and it turns out that
yes, in fact
the two had met
in cyberspace -
an awkward moment passes
and flowers and becomes
a grinning business
handshake -
vigorous and with the opposite
hand shoulder grasp -
you'd of thought they'd
just invented manifest destiny
so anxious, and giddy and
were they.
one of them
is struggling with
studied 1956 -
and he's twenty-six -
he can't believe
none of us
has cigarettes.

the furniture comes
unglued in the rain.
and this morning on the
front page the
rate of them who jump
from the aurora bridge
means all pedestrians
must be denied -
buses, trucks, cars
just keep right on tumbling by
from a source plentiful and
on high -
here in room 11
there are poems i could have told you
years ago and i dont think you
would remember them today
i dont.
i see the long lines of cable
strung out from these walls
and beyond – the city at night said
what's his name, what's his name
you know, the guy from the doors
who made joan didion weak.

you get a strange glimpse
the fallingest down
you can get -
lets sit here now
awhile and see who
the real tourists are.

take care


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