PASADENA TRYST
She unlocks her door.
Turns on the lights.
Takes off her dress.
Night is the junkie
of dark coffee,
of the blue art
and sleeplessness,
a red eye stirred
by moonlight,
by heated conversation
till dawn. Songs change.
Musicians change.
Who can put a price on it?
We live in a body for years
we thought we owned
only to discover
we were renting it.
Nothing is guaranteed.
Her last will
and testament
will likely be written
on a postcard
from Disneyland.
Scott Malby
Posted over on Celebration
2 comments:
Thanks, I found that poignantly stirring. I'm still trying to figure out the Frank Frazetta-style art's relationship to it but we'll just give my perceptual filters a little more time on that one.
Yeah, Chris, good point--so I changed up my own filter for the image choice.
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