Once made the worst Pina Colada
the world has ever known
Bartender - that ain't my callin'
i'm just wingin' it.
as a storyline without a punch bowl,
but I loved her.
Hunt'ress
prowls, lurks - but 'twas no animals,
was not waiting for proper
but the right or left - was stillness in we stood
as lashes are torn was made a crown then
of nails which stroke glue.
Cuz' Art is in the message you propulgate,
like David Garrett in concert
and this is the story i've lived through,
It's not Banksy, but it'll do :
Conquests,
is not to walk side by side, is not love,
but desire as it consumes -
expanding horizons but it's empty as pleasures
is only fleeting, fleeting as shoesteps on stairs,
down a cattywalkie of fashions.
the Art of playing a One-Stringed Violin
with a Broken Bridge -
then o'er William Blake illuminated works
and through the Wizard of Oz
Infatuations
as dull become is the next attraction then
as the days after strikes -
contractions of energy in a hole as the grand show,
has closed its doors is an empty, empty room
without hands held - alone.
In a dream, I saw her on a café in Paris,
but the ruby red high heels,
was offset in colour - that's not her,
she's made of crystalline
fragmented glass, and smalltalk
in the bathroom,
smokin' cigarettes, playin' violin
Ah, I miss - ed - it all.
Sleepin' beauty on a white couch
after ridin' the horse,
Hah! memories, from Russia with love,
not too much vodka -
just enough - high road is knowin'
when to stop.
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