I’ve forgotten prose, structure, eloquence,
Forgotten the art of lies
To turn silly moments of romance,
To beauteous works flowered with bottomless vocabulary
I have forgotten how to walk the path,
Where tellers speak of great histories
Of knights, and magic, and love,
Of little moments where kisses lasted a million years
Of subtle melancholic drama with well-clad women,
On rainy nights,
At fancy restaurants
Making love the whole night after,
At a hotel you paid for with your life savings
I’ve forgotten the art,
Of telling tales that last eternity
Timeless stringing hearts from sorrow to pondering,
To wondering of the depth of the human mind
I’ve forgotten

These days most happenings are random,
Though the sun keeps to its two milestones a day
I see no order in things,
No pattern in the happenings in life
Things just go on, mostly disconnected
With my mind trying to connect the invisible dots,
Trying to sense out some reason from this daze
And the funny thing is, the disorder happens,
In sobriety, in pure soberness,
In daytime,
When all the world seems normal moving about,
With their chores and activities
Sober as a naked duck, at daytime,
That’s when I strip my mind and see the confusion,
That lurks hiding,
Beneath all the romantic dreams that spurned in childhood
Behind the curt and mannerly fellow who wears his clothes,
There it lies, that everlasting confusion
That’s more than a thousand years old

And the funny thing is,
Clarity comes,
In the drunkenness of the night
When the cells in my brain are twisting,
And turning and dancing,
With the spirit of rum
In the absence of thought in these moments,
Without subtlety and confusion
Making all things plain beneath the moonlight
Drunk as a staggering pig,
Smiling like sunshine after three days rain
That’s when most things get clear
But who wants clarity?
Who wants anything at all? For real.

Always getting somewhere, where? Nowhere.
There’s nowhere to go
Nothing to say
Nothing to learn
Come and sing my doomsday song
And make love to my treacherous tongue
I’ll tell you no lies, give you no gods
I’ll give you just one glass of rum,
A cigarette, some other stuff to smoke,
If you’d like
And we’ll chatter on like kings of the galaxy,
Pretending to know how atoms spin,
What makes them spin and why
Pretending to know all sorts of other things,
Lying like superstars
Suspended like hollow skeletons,
On this funny green globe
In the middle of space

We’ll pretend, until we go to sleep
And wake up,
And repeat,
The whole funny thing,
That we call,
Everyday life


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