Author, Poet, Photographer
I wonder why I’m here
when I can see so clearly,
how the time’s miss-spent.
Some girls push past
with loves which last
as long as music fast,
keeps all joy jerking
puppet-wise to unseen ties,
and psychedelic lights
effect hallucinatory hues
infusing all.
In tune with sound
as round and round
they’re twirled,
now red,
now white,
now green,
the scene all animation,
but expressions blank.
I sink a numbing drink
thinking to edge despair
into some corner, where
the spare is of another kind,
where I can find a fellow
mind with body sweet,
and time to meet
the unexpected.
And though I know
fulfilment lies elsewhere,
a pair of lovely legs
begs for attention of a
different sort, where thought
is less important, than intent,
and talking something for the old:
like me.
© James Rainsford