Alphabet City

Paris underground, got to get above
to breathe in colored light and rain,
somewhere the girl with the doe’s eyes emits scents
when she’s warm again, but for now the metro is too hot.

The last drag on a night as it nears
dawn, I retain my poise even though I shuffle
and carry myself contemplative, in the rush of early stars,
late tears, departing planes, misted red tail lights.

I can see the flicker, a thousand cycles per second
impressions to strobe, so I dance and pulse intentionally
out of time in order to preserve the macabre, the long spindle
of my spine held erect in this samba, tendrils limber vines.

I bow best in tuxedo, she curtsies in gown, with spit-shine shoes
and perfect air waltzed down the stair rail, shined baluster
on which we glide so gingerly, how I embrace her at the landing
night lamps hushed…