The piano escapes, 

cigarette smoke has no choice,

Beautiful chaos through a tenor sax
And you, resurrecting Dante’s piano,

Spin your yarn of hopeful notes

Up and down Regent street, 

Our fate carried away

by a drunken bass tone –

I can’t find my feet,

Like an oil drenched seagull,

The gift of flight has been taken from me.
Blaming the blasé moon

For melting the night 

Without so much as a kiss goodbye,
Or a bludgeoned cigarette 

In the eye –

No recognizable tune for you, or I.

(Thanks be to chaos for getting something right.) ©DMM


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