Careful steps echo through darkness –
a solemn clack-clack clack-clack-clack
of a dust-washed typewriter
eyes turned skyward – flickering candle
shadows
under every streetlamp
melting the starry drowsiness of
the drowning sea of night
drunk on freedom and cheap cider
youthful silhouettes against the scenery
of ancient stones
swaying down St Mary's Gate
to the backwash of thought
soul dripping from tongue and stumbling eyes
every slurred word a poem in itself
half-truths that weigh down the earth
painting crooked shadows of white horses
on the clouds
that – like steam – lift off the canvas of the
ocean sky
lipstick wearing thinner with each beer
conversations as hollow as the wind
that blows gentle kisses into the streets
where juvenile gods are dancing in the
cold dust
still swaying staggering swaggering on
and on and on
sticky spray of barley waves breaking
free from sober shores
nicotine fog rising up in shapes of ghosts
drenched in the paleness of the moon
and sparks and new-found boldness
and courageous recklessness
smelling of dreams
waves of defiance over streets and rooftops
and city lights
vanishing into sleepless solitude
but gravity drags mortal juveniles to earth
the weight of dollar notes nailed on feet
and hands and arms
leaden clothes and jewelry and chains
of copper coins
pulling ship-wrecked vessels back to shores
of sobriety that lie
bare and fallow under translucent stars
where jazzmen play a lost sailor's tune
and painters burn their canvases
and poets sway down St Mary's Gate
with nothing to write about –
a solemn clack-clack clack-clack-clack
of their broken typewriter.
Written by Merle Emrich.
Cover photo by Merle Emrich.