And all that needed to be said
Funneled into my chest
With a touch of liquid resentment.
Joy calls out beyond the edifice
Of vain thoughts.
Weltschmerz is a boiling stream that
Runs through the swarthy
Steppes of frozen sky.
Name one reason to
Sing the tunes of rats and
Transform them into fairies,
And I will give you my words,
Followed by my darkened vision.
Losing earth is a lot like
Making love unbalanced,
Jolts of fire and recompense
Interspersed with naked heavings
Quickly sated without cause or method.
Abduct my memories
And carve them into sprightly wings.
Before I take flight,
Dedicate my listless heart to
The city’s edge,
Where some yearnings failed to sprout,
And others continue to grow.
Remember the dusty pathway to the
Only open window to the
House on moonlit creek.
Art: “Sunset, West Twenty-Third Street”
John French Sloan