Inside/Outside

Am I inside or

outside? Should I

attend to the meal I

carefully prepared or

gawp at the clouds and that

further beyond that

beckons with a

crooked finger that

never points to anything

definite but

merely implies?

 

Morpheus in the Underground

Fridayam's Blog

It was our eternal foursome,
Orpheus and Bacchus leading
Aphrodite astray, all ending the night in
my encompassing arms, the
arms of Morpheus, but there are no
moans and sighs now when
morphine has stolen my
name and purpose.

I see those three sometimes
across a crowded bar, still
cavorting but with no need of me,
so I make my excuses, walk the waterfront
seeking out the homeless for whom
sleep is like a gratuity, rare and
grudgingly given.

I find them wherever the
wind can’t get, unless it is
particularly playful, on thin cardboard,
wrapped in whatever they own,
hidden beneath the great buildings in which
they are bemoaned, sometimes drunk in the
shadow of sobriety.

I try to give them my gift but some
resist, their feral dogs snarling as they
twitch and fit; some squadies salute,
caught between squadron and squalor; some
sigh and grasp my hand…

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Amen

Fridayam's Blog

It’s one of those times when

some sort of light clings on

even as it should be night

as hands are sometimes

disinclined to part

as lips seem sometimes

stuck together in the

hesitant silence of the

nearly-night when love is the

amen to all prayers.

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Tempo de Amor

“Tempo de Amor” (Vinicius de Moraes/Baden-Powell 1966)

 

You have a lot to record, so

many songs, but no

studio time so you get

wives, girlfriends, mistresses

(who knows?) singing a

complicated chorus so

beautifully out of

key you can hear

Vinicius loving it,

propelling it and

Baden-Powell aching to

remake it to its

detriment.