YOUNG GOTHS GATHER AT THE COFFEE & JAZZ:
Longchain stickman laughing, leaning on a coffee, dressed in Black.
At the side of a road where metal moves fast & cruel, everything’s
a little more expensive. Blow your horn of dust, the past reaches out,
perfect honey, don’t crack, tongues of the old folk click & clack,
couples letting time slip away, nothing better to do, casting
shadows at the original drive-through, red chalk heart on a Blackboard
wall. I watch you shelter, take a drag, look around t check, make that
jazz-cool face, fingers in twos, pink stick squeeze, squinting
into the sun as a saxophone bellows reaches up from the dark,
leviathan, love struck on heat are you feeling it? In the wind,
in the sun, are you listening? Drawn to it’s dusk, it’s dawn,
basement Blue notes, hunched over the horn, smoke curls from between
the fingers, lips part, inhale, cool on the corner watching the Goths.