I CAME TO THE CITY, PART 14; TWO ROOMS IN THE LAND OF THE FROGS

 

In days now distant
we were back side,
one-up, apartment dwellers
whose viewless windows
enabled us to see more
through the darkness
than the light that might
have deceived us.

Tambourine Therese
tapped her tunes
of truths not yet tasted,
sweet tumble leaves
freshly fallen from the trees
in the apple orchard with the
pink ladies and golden greens
begging to be bitten into,
we were innocence
eased into a micro
mini of voluptuous velvet
and the brown eyed boy
already broken on blue,
we were scavengers
seeking the scent of salvation
on the shiny streets,
saving up to buy
into beginnings
we could cut cords on,
we were lyrics yet to be licked
looking to Mitchell as muse;
we were wild in the old days
and covering Carey
and cases of whoever
might come calling
on the Casio
in our little corner
as we careered through
the no longer muddy marshland
in search of suggestions to rise
in us seductions, thirsty for
tattoos to plot paths
along our pale pinkness
so we could track our trajectory.

Gone from the garden
we were growing into city,
held up at first in a hotel, hostages
of homelessness were we sang
songs in the ignorance
of our sorrow, sweet birds
of youth busy building nests
in the confines of concrete,
blind to the battery, we were
born for the bloom but forging
that famed forever on a friendship
that failed us like the lie of a lead balloon.

In days now distanced
from all that was once dream,
I have found form as lonely painter
on a canvas of winding words,
the connoisseur of cutting cords,
often curt and callous,
in the challenge
to manage the malice,
trying to be fateful only
to the fate that awaits
but caught at times, by cords
that cannot be cut, whose curious
concerns come a calling
from cold corners
I’d considered closed.

I hear you on the wind sometimes
still tapping those tunes
I thought I’d forgotten, as veins
rethread the trajectories
already taken through my skin,
no more so pink, no more so fresh.
Fruit fades but we find ourselves
reformed into fractures
of what once was,
fragments unfinished,
like filigree too fine to unfold,
like a dance as yet undone,
a song we had still to sing
in this city I’ve now returned to
while moving on, slipping forward
through shadows now past,
still building nests, still seeing
better in the darkness
and touched, in that half light,
by the purity of your sprite,
once so fair, one so rare.

We fell so fast to finished
and yet, as she sings of the songs
like tattoos, I’m reminded
of that one flight up
that can never be diminished.

All words and photo collage by Damien B. Donnelly

Audio version available on Soundcloud:

 

 

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11 thoughts on “I CAME TO THE CITY, PART 14; TWO ROOMS IN THE LAND OF THE FROGS

      1. deuxiemepeau

        I do have a top hat, and just for that too! And a lamppost and bench outside on the street! All in need is a little rain and the beginning of a soft shuffle!!!

  1. Pingback: I CAME TO THE CITY, MY MUSE, MISS MITCHELL – Deuxiemepeau; Picturing Poetry by D. B. Donnelly

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