Two friends have been laughing aside, inside the kitchen of time
Scheming grander stories of a bigger bang
Than the one that rang
At the bell of beginning
They told amazing tales of what their young lives had held
Each one talking in turn, assuming
The others expression of an age suspended in mind
Though old memories do tend
To amend and distort a true happening, but a happening that is hard to believe
Well that is one to behold and
Be remembered and be retold carefully as it aligns itself with the stars
Underneath a veil of semi-permanence
As the two friends spoke
They became graceful about nothing and yet everything
Ubiquitously they acknowledged the ethereal forces
Mortal reminders were obvious in observing the underlying decaying walls and fences
That surrounded behind the evergreens, the deciduous and the like
Here, there, everywhere
Were falling leaves, webs of skeletal dust and
Bristling thistle spikes
That dumbfounded them as they felt fantastic in the
Deep blue and rich red frantic seas of their hearts content
Admitting the early hours of many a myriad morning talking unguarded
On the outside garden bench – The importance of seeking day via nightfall was vital
In the opencast glow worm cave
Of reality
Translating the epoch, converting the gold
Deciphering the cosmos and riding the wave of wisdom through eternity
All the while anticipating or consolidating their idealistic futures – They were young, so incredibly young!
Usually, after acclimatizing to the October cold
And with a terrible shot of dark rumbullion burning, their tensions relaxed
As their true fears were now infernally exposed and ranging
Their uncertainties struck the moonlit midnight to dawn air
Like their cigarette smoke patterns
Upon the cloudless black but gloomy sky
These modern smoke signals tooted a muted help
To the Ancient Indians of the World
And held their attention with a stoned glee
Talking in this great vacuum of darkness
On this unmistakable night
The chat and chit rolled back and forth
Relentlessly releasing a well being
Unattainable unless shared between
Two really great, mad and mighty friends
Girl – girl, boy – boy
Boy – girl, girl – boy
Old – young – sexually indifferent
No matter as
The black rain drizzled
And was dazzling in the reflected shadows
Cast by the house light
It was the kind of light that grows
From the empty inside toward the empty outside
In the early minutes of an auspicious autumn
Where the nakedness of actuality
Strips us back bare to skin and bone
To deny any possible lie, deceit or falsehood – No fortitude of future therein
But instead – Unveiling honesty, vigour and craziness as their diamond tusk
That characterise well-being amongst
The greatest friends of Old Time
Whether Eskimo, Redskin, Mongol, Persian, Celt, Wizard, Wolf or Tortoise!
Poet, Labourer, Lady, Fisherman, Militant, Magpie, Bozo or Mofo!
We all drink from the same water and
Sleep under the same skies
But without the misty air of madness
And the drunken buffoonery of improperness
The street would indeed be a lot sadder
And much too grim a place to reside
In the eyes of the fool or the hearts of the lonely
As the skies shroud the anonymity of her people
Hiding their aspirations deep
Within her over-populated arms
However, on any a random non-specific night
A call to friends rears new smoke plumes
Like the hot air of Icelandic geysers
That explode over scolding waters
For a nights carousal
Imagining new stories held in old haunts that are
To be enjoyed and
Remembered in the shining face of the obedient sun
Where only the foolish
May repeat a trick to lose the magic of memory
Two friends in one home, left the street and
Continued their lives as they meant to go on
It was never going to be easy
But time in mind furthers
Adventure in order
To reap havoc on a suspicious but beautiful city
A night may have a start but it never has an end
(One head twists over a shoulder and utters Christ! Symbolic, as this will explain all the marvellous exploits that follow)
THIS IS NOT THE END, MERELY THE START…
The Vivacious Melancholic 