It must have been some mad dereliction
Or some greed for name and fame
Or a lacklustre wonder of direction
That love had me and I would not tame.
Into the boozy brothels of shame and deceit,
Into the gaze that locks eyes to kisses,
Into the guiles and facades of longing
Unto heaving sighs and a heart that misses
Into those tales that make great parodies
Unto the joys of hope and delight
Till the last break of dawn I clasp
That wisping flame that was ignited.
I wander into the streets of pressure cookers
And I play with beings that jump with spright;
Sometimes I wonder if being a decent looker
Could rake off the band from the wagon on high.
I think I'm done with such infatuous passions
That imagination oft does newly fashion
Into the simplest way of living and being
With memories of smells and reprieves.
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