She had rubies that dangled down
To the hips that stole each heart
Cigarette was midnight in each look
She cast into the night.
She called to a lover down on the street
Who looked up and knew her name
He said: “My dear how are you there?
It has been a long long time.”
Then off into the night the taxi rolled away
And two strangers emerged
Locked arm in arm as they strolled.
She had rubies that dangled down
To the hips that stole each heart
And as she walked around her room
A record playing a good song
She pretended she was dancing at a ball
In a lost time, enchanted
She thought about writing a letter to
A friend she’d never met.
She had rubies that dangled down
To the hips that stole each heart
And every time she she shared her name
It changed into a vision
That soon wafted into the night
And all around was cobblestones
An empty café unattended though open
Where, listening, the open windows
Learned her every midnight name.
Tag: taxi
Leftover Vixen (day 1208)
I’ve discovered a vixen
That wears death for flair.
She screams murder in the morning
And lifts weights with far off eyes.
I don’t care if you’re death
– Taxi waiting for a surprise –
I don’t care if you’re angling,
For mystery surprises me.
When leftover bottles
Start to yell “Yellow,” and my name,
I take offense to my obituaries
Scribed middle stanza.
I don’t care if you’re death
– Taxi waiting for a surprise –
I don’t care if you’re angling,
For mystery surprises me.
And late night as I’m wandering
Your plans flicker through my mind,
I’m leftover and gangrene
Slithering naked on the floor.
Just Yesterday (day 257)
Do you remember me?
We would park down on the beach
Thinking about each others plans
Talking about us
Where we’re going in life
What our future would hold
How we believe in each other
Do you remember about Paris?
You said you would dress me in a bow
Walking hand in hand down the des Champs-Élysées
Our friends would call our names
In rich foreign accents as we passed them by
Waving casually, and going on our way
Do you think we’ll ever drive there?
Walking seems much more romantic
Then again, so does an old taxi
You in your furs and I in my bespoke
Your hair would have feathers in it
Your lace would come off black
Do you still get lost in your tea?
As you sit and stare at the leaves
Counting your black magic
Shifting your spells
Deciding when to clear the wallet
Of useless propaganda
Perhaps some day it will become old
Wrinkled from the time
But still just yesterday
