Night Cap

In this dream there is a man
In a black suit, white shirt,
And black tie like a detective
But he promises in a deep voice
That he couldn’t even be a spy
If he wanted to.
There is a record player
Like the Sixties
And I sip a cold beer
Whiskey in his eyes like an old man
But the scene is irrelevant as bleach in a black hole
A hand grenade in a flower shop

Only his words, his words
His unshaved Kurtz rattle in a jungle
Made of lime and concrete
Remain on the jazz stricken side
Of my young mind

Lighting a cigarette with each new song
And winking at the well dressed waitress
He always said,
“A new south light and Jack
With a moustache and an erector set—
Just hear me out then
Here me out I’m getting
Away from the point—
It’s Broadway and the curtains part
A life in three acts but the stage is empty
And the playbill and shoeshine boy
Beg you to keep your seats
And silence.
I promise you before the night
Is up the streets and alleyways
Will yawn and spit
Like Champagne in the hands
Of last month’s silver centerfold
Singing happy birthday
Smiling and smiling and trying to smile.
The bubbles make a frame of gold
But not like the Louvre or Met
Just cellophane
And oh her calendar eyes big blue
Just looking at the camera flash bulbs
And mine like Russian space
Search the black between her iris
And I promise you will never
Come out
Like a pilot lost in a dark cloud
But not from rain
Or empty boxes inside others forever
And you’ll realize the water inside you is not alive
Faster than the wind could lift her skirt
Like a blinding light in a subway tunnel.”