Mercedes

Darkness in life, and in a relationship escalated into insanity which resulted in my being hit by a car.

1.
I have sat by this church 1000 times or more,
recounted it's history, tales of construction,
it's dimension and it's secrets, and yet,
as tiresome as some of these days do get,
here is always perfect,
even, if occasionally,
the weather is not with us.
Today, the weather is here,
but, sadly, you are not.
I drifted here a little lost,
looking for nothing but paths unremembered,
ghosts I thought I had forgot,
passions misplaced,
and time top grant indifference.

2.
It's still very confusing, this pain.
But, I guess, attempting to find
a centre to twisted geometries
is the real pain.

3.
Today the area by the water is sorrounded:
art students forced to understand this place
through symmetry only, not pain,
nor love, or sex, or chemicals, even;
simply charcoal and straight lines
sloping to existance by an aging hand who takes no s**t.

4.
The water simulates the sound of rushing
and young men cast their darkened eyes
on the scarlet cheeks of young girls blushing
beneath a moon still apparent
in the Summer skies.

5.
I play to unseen stars with a young lion who knew.
Two others walk away, outclassed.
Are we truly artists? Or are we simply lost?
We learned the craft...
....but what a f*****g cost.
A film crew arrives
and we could be beuatiful
if the shock of invasion were not so strong.
A girl tries to interview me in English when I tell her
the song is mine,
so I drop the guitar and walk away.
The only fool is me
that I have time for today.

6.
Already, in my head, I am back to you.
The moment fades and I'm drifting again.
The ryhtm of each percieved movement can be perfect
if certain things are precise.
Precision being the need of us all.
Integrity is the precision in life;
truth, the precision of love.

7.
I stop and look at the green of a tree's new leaves
kissing me in light from nearly a mile away.

8.
I fall into the company of an African DJ,
a self-proclaimed king who taught himself to see,
but really still nothing more
than another refugee.
Our gravity brings to our orbit
a sheltered young Qabbalist,
sadly too burned by the truth to be of any use.
I say 'no', as beer is produced,
recalling those demons of mine,
but, in the company of angels
I concede.

9.
Drunk now, I leave the company of wasted strangers
searching for you in a city that despises itself.
Along the way that man
whom you gave the last years of your youth away to
comes back into my head
with all of the compliments you held for him
and all of the reproaches you have for me.
If I could, I would call you, say
'Let us not meet; I am pained,
and wish to die',
but I can't,
and we do,
and the madness begins.

10.
I attempt to say 'I love you',
but it comes out as 'F**k You'.
I try to say 'sorry',
but it hits the air as 'B***h.'
I go to wrap my arms around you,
to wrap my pain in the anaesthetic of your body,
to wrap your love around my heart,
but instead I have your hair in my hand
and you are running
away and into the night
that will never seem to end.
And I follow.

11.
Nice here.
Warm.
Wet.
Eyes open and cities dance into your face.
'Wha...'
            '.....by a car.'
'Who...'
           '......by a car.'
A voice, now male, stranger than yours
which is too sweet to penetrate, 'Hit by a car.'
No one will let me stand.
Pompiers are mentioned.
Is that blood?
In my confusion all I know is that you are beautful.
'Hit by a care', you say, and I try to laugh;
the jokes of lovers can be sometimes so cruel.
Then I hear the fear in your voice,
and feel my body broken,
and I can't really care,
because your are here,
and close,
and concerned,
and beautiful enough to make me
unbreakable.