Monday, October 17, 2011

Nights at the Niagara

Ghosts of the past
run a shadow gallery
as live as the Louvre
in lieu of the lockstep
march of the hourglass
long trudged over
the true basic training times
in college where
we like fledglings
waddled out of the gate
with an unsure gait,
searching for our footing
in the dark,
squinting at quaking feet
instead of peering forward
at seemingly impossible goals
representing stern gaols
rising up in the
imperceptible distance

Though in tonight's instance,
those lofty perches are
forgotten in the flood
of vodka and reminiscence
made distinct by this
night of cameos
the throes of which
sit heavier than hot lights
on the highlights of genius
splattered against the wall

Spray paint of the subconscious
sitting splayed out
amongst the storm
of rabble rousers
out and about
in this Lower East Side parade,
a midnight carnival carved
from the fruits
of restless nights
in restless rooms,
the toil from their tombs
the sum total of
a typhoon of restless swoons
swirling into momentary celebrity
shooting us all high into
an orbit of everlasting celerity.

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