Four AM, and still nothing’s making sense,
my weary body peals itself from bed
pancake from the hot pan,
not quite burnt, but getting there.
I go to the window and fog it up,
the street lights reveal a coated ground.
Crushed diamonds of black, orange
and predominantly white, all shine.
If I don’t go out tonight I never will.
The artery of the nation’s pacing slow
tonight; I can stand there and not
be moved on.
I can stand here tonight and freeze
in my place, become street furniture.
Unusual antique of this town.
I know this and must move.
It’s far too cold.
Hollywood must have paid a visit.
I keep blinking but it still remains,
The pale moon on the horizon of the road.
Yes, it’s truly her
with that freakish stare. I cannot help it,
my pupils are stuck to this light.
A glaring beam, other worldly.
Dogs bark in the distance.
I blink what seems to be a night
to finding her screaming in my face,
screaming yellow…
Then all’s black
black,
black,
black.
And there’s me at the window
peering through dense fog,
my presence shivering at diamonds
on the smooth road.
You describe yourself in excellent, consistent and vivid imagery and the outside world in oblique, hazy language and i guess this echoes what you are trying to get at though i don't 'understand' the poem entirely. Great imagery though.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
this was awesome, Sean. how you debate with yourself thruout. i especially dug the crushed diamonds metaphor.