Our lives depend on how
the pack splits. Some can
plan the future three shots
ahead; others rattle the jaws
of fate’s pocket, never knowing
where the cue ball may be going.
Let's get your old folk duo back
together
to sing your naive ballads. Let's
go out to a
Dog Show, or an alternative Oscars
where
they give out statues for vanity
and mischief,
where there's no script, but
everybody laughs.
The console lights come on; a hiss
of pneumatics before the 64-footer
clears its throat, audible from
space.
Hands blur across four banks of
keys;
the organist entertains, an
orchestra
of ten fingers and a chorus of
titans.
Three taps on the rim of a snare,
and it can only be you. The skins
pulse to the riddim of your blood;
beat leaves holes in the studio
air.
A taut roll as the last track
begins;
nothing could ever sound so good.
A voice comes through the
heat-haze,
telling a billion stories of a
billion lives,
separating truth from myth to
camera,
reporting the spirit of a distant
people,
unpicking the knotted braids of a
nation.
Let me tell you about my years in
Cubeville;
how I learned to fail better and
fail faster;
how I escaped before they found me
out.
Let me tell you about the
unspeakable man
in the corner who saw all; who
sketched me
and a million lives in caricatures
of drudgery.
You said someday a fiery bird
would return
to take you home, that its
silver-suited pilots
would call you by your cosmic
name. I saw
an image of your life viewed from
altitude;
a face looking skyward, wanting to
believe.
You can learn a lot of things
about women
from racy novels; most of it
untrue. A day
browsing in a boutique is more
instructive;
trends wax and wane but the life
you think
suits you best is always just out
of reach.
I was in love with the idea of a
woman,
a creation in medium shot, half
insoluble,
half incendiary. Eventually, the
camera
caught her in close-up, a picture
of
disfigurement I once mistook for
beauty.
Just when I thought the song was
over,
a voice like a bank of smog rolled
in,
fogging the road with a grey
wisdom,
a melody it would be so easy to
ignore,
driving to a place we cannot
follow.