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Amongst the aimless, hurried, stupid, faces of the street, I saw you tonight Koste Palama, wandering back and forth in my drunken disillusionment; looking for a whore or a friend or resurrection. Shop windows and the moon! Digging your thoughts Koste Palama; feckless old bon vivant as you hit the bar making eyes at the whores and nursing a double whiskey.
I tailed you through a cigarette fog and smirks at my womanly hair. I stayed for you to treat me standing at the boards. Next to a few seated statues. We are the liveliest tonight The grasses eye us with suspicion the lights go out in an hour. Who will carry us home? Koste Palama, unheeded loud-mouth, prodigal father. What Romiosini had you cast with fire and howls, upon the summit of hope, when suddenly night leapt like a knife from its sheath. And you remained on the chair paralyzed with the vision of a sweet dawn steaming.
I feel like a schoolboy whose fortune was to have a cuss for a teacher. For some time now I wondered how we would get along. Beware of my madness old man; on a whim I could kill you. This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.
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