07-15-2016, 06:59 PM
Impossible angel
Beer and cigarettes
and you, your languid locks,
are always in my world of drunken walks
through Barbican and Bishopsgate,
in the moonbeam shallows
of walls spattered with poetry.
Thursday nights your longing is a sea
crossing through hours of drunkenness.
Mindful glances in the mermaid shadows
turn not to me.
Impossible angel
that runs not to me.
But runs to the deep sea's emptiness
in the white frothed wave that follows
the moon's pale lamp of loneliness
that burns not for me.
Beer and cigarettes
and you, your languid locks,
are always in my world of drunken walks
through Barbican and Bishopsgate,
in the moonbeam shallows
of walls spattered with poetry.
Thursday nights your longing is a sea
crossing through hours of drunkenness.
Mindful glances in the mermaid shadows
turn not to me.
Impossible angel
that runs not to me.
But runs to the deep sea's emptiness
in the white frothed wave that follows
the moon's pale lamp of loneliness
that burns not for me.
~ I think I just quoted myself - Achebe