Arcadia, my city…by G. Mramor


Returning to the city who keeps so many of my memories, memories of blackout nights, of colours beating on beading bodies in sway to the electric buzzing out the skies, of moonless wanders along the addle trails of the refused, under a deep lavender sky, aimless  in this dimming, memories of…

the night, oh to cherish the night, oh the night, of hand in hand upon the italian promenades, searching out a dark spot for a silly blonde and I, the night, oh to cherish the night, oh the night, of a black recess in a church where she comes onto me and her thick bronze thighs shiver on mine, and how she rocks, the night, oh to cherish the night, oh the night, she feels me, she kisses me, deep with her pink lips, my hands soft on her back, in her lioness’ mane lost, her hands  about my waist unsure, in the night there are god’s eyes, her hands then finding faith in mine, safety, this is safety, she whimpers, a too many times beaten bitch, she whimpers, this is safety, this is safety, she whimpers, the night, oh to cherish the night, and how she rocks me, and our hands together on her thighs, and a welter through the souls apart says come unto me says piece of me says come into me, a lift of her skirt, an unbuckling of my pants, pull down pull down with a mad summer tongue and lips bleeding for another’s pull down,  the night, oh to cherish the night, oh the night, a lift a fall, piece of me, she whispers, as one, she whispers,

into night, always into night, of a bridge who bonds two unlike places, of a fence who protects one from one, of a windy day, of an unbearable storm, of one saying no more no more no more, of a fence who protects one from one, into night, always into night, of a train and a new year, four go searching for a revel to squeeze out all the slag and offal, all the wreckage at mind’s ends, one night of ritualistic passing, just one night to expunge all, one night to be born again,  memories of trains’ traffic and flights, mad youngblood flights, into night, always into night, nights where in the black the mirror unearths, yes yes this is me yes, the dark said,

I don’t love you but I can’t bear to be away from you, I just hate myself, of a girl quiet who comes across the four-lane street to me, with a searching kiss, a spreading kiss, a this is me more than me kiss, and walk, we walk forever, and shadows of lonely flickering lamp posts, flicker flicker flicker out, a walk in shadows, here let’s go to the park, hand in fumbling hand, I don’t love you but I can’t bear to be away from you, I just hate myself, quiet, a bench, a great wall, who divides nature from time, a green flicker, across the way seven flights from the ground the adumbration of a man, a green flicker, let’s go, I don’t love you but I can’t bear to be away from you, I just hate myself, through the gates, awash black, thrown against the wall, her lips explode into mine, who are you, I hate you, blighting and bleeding and blending, lay me low, I don’t love you but I can’t bear to be away from you, I just hate myself, dark, spewing out, watch me cut out my heart, give me your blood, pouring, naked, black, I don’t love you but I can’t bear to be away from you, I just hate myself, quiet, a dawn spreading, you have to go, yea I got work, don’t go, I have to, you’ll never see me again, yea I know, she said

praise herself, of she in her white-dotted red dress cut shy above her knee, break my heart a thousand more, these words that bear a voice that bear an image that bear her, here around my weak shoulders whispering all those sweets we never had, whispering, this is love this is not love this is three days, three days and all I remember is a white-dotted red dress cut shy above her knee, her lazy left eye, her victorian skin, her pale pressed pink lips, soft sage, her mind, to find a life, in words a shoofly poem, who hurt me though it was not for me, herself, in herself, praise herself, for the many years denying herself the love birth-given, crying father in pillows seeing father in ghosts feeling father in auras, again again my father again, teach me to dance, teach me to read, teach me, no more, sadness, bitterness, hatred, drugs and drinks duds and dollies, praise herself, she to praise herself, and I, I only to praise her up into an image of a God, disingenuous dishonest disheartening was her letter, to never speak me again she said, disingenuous to whom dishonest to whom disheartening  to whom, to me, go, shoo fly, to, praise herself, and these trains, this train who once brought me to you, for three days, how it makes me, in these years four still I smile, with wondering, are you still there, knowing I shall never know

…so many memories does she keep, my city, Arcadia

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