When Bird sings from my sink
I'm living in New York during the Bell Jar days
First generation tarmac warming up
The writhing mass hopping under
Shadeless lightbulbs, bare walls
White as stoves, tiny bathtubs, stone floors
Bouncing off hot, manic sounds
Dig that groove, tension everywhere
A barely concealed panic
With each heavier night, let it fill
Propped up by all the juice wrung
Then as now from twisted arms
Eyes rolled back, empty bottles
Labelled in white
Makes you sleepy, doesn't it Charlie?
On the crepuscule of dreams, that's where it's hot
Just enough sanity in the fingers
To paint Mona Lisa with a saxophone
Turn joy into something you can hold
And drink from, drunk on darkness
Shooting up through veins
Somehow love gets through, for a few seconds
Then it's carbonised
It has to be buried somewhere
The tip of a Manhattan sunset
Cool and blue, made new.@nepion_boreas17