| And the night comes on
|
| And the heat dies down
|
| And the city sprays beams of light into space
|
| Looking very much like a giant, glowing pineapple
|
| I throw open the window
|
| Unknown birds on rooftops
|
| And rooftops set against the radiant sky
|
| So this is where people live
|
| People live, breathe and die in this place
|
| Keep their own little pills
|
| In their little holes
|
| Little holes of enormous appetite
|
| Shouting at passers by from windows high above the street
|
| Threatening to take a step of hot blood against the setting sun
|
| Until they are finally brought to sleep and we can rest
|
| You alone carry the weight of your body
|
| And the night comes on
|
| And the heat dies down
|
| I am alone
|
| I have a key for a hotel room
|
| And I used to have a home
|
| I just arrived from someplace else
|
| And upon arrival I saw from inside of the aluminum fish
|
| The city lay silent
|
| Silent
|
| And glowing with a veil of chemicals
|
| Reaching the very face of the moon
|
| I was glad I didn’t live down there
|
| And sad that I had to keep coming back
|
| I walk up streets and down streets
|
| And I go to all the familiar places
|
| No I do not recognize anybody
|
| I search the bars for little salty portions of friendship
|
| But they are all long gone
|
| You alone carry the weight of your body
|
| So I start walking
|
| It is a painful walk
|
| I try walking in front of people
|
| I try walking the proud walk of the ancient poet
|
| I alone went out to meet the sea
|
| And the wave was breaking right there
|
| Right there at my chest of fine marble
|
| But this is only partly making sense
|
| I am pursued by the snake of solitude
|
| By the time I head on back for the hotel
|
| You alone carry the weight of your body
|
| The words enter my mind a third time
|
| As I lock the door behind me
|
| Feeling that I had come in from the rain
|
| I am lucky to have this room
|
| I am lucky to of dawn
|
| I will undress
|
| And I will pack my bags before I go to sleep
|
| You alone carry the weight of your body
|
| There are colorful lights at the very fresh of sleep
|
| Now this thing has an imagination of its own |