d.a.levy
from
Cleveland Undercovers
sometimes city
when i walk at night
i slip into your past or future
and there is nothing
except walking at night
and silence
i close my eyes and enter Carters
RED House Boozery seeking
and finding but not understanding
until i reopen my eyes
and i find myself in the Blue Jug Jail
of the past
(For the Last Time)
the city changes her face in an
attempt to control me but now i yell
my this lifes name at her.
she crumbles in confusion
and i wonder -
what did i expect to find in this poem
a key? an answer?
there is only the city as i pretend to
see it and my self as i pretend to see
it
so Now i sip tradition within'the
coffee stained walls of the Acropolis
Cafe as the old men play card games
i have not learned,
i sip turkish coffee
and devour honey covered baklava
thinking of should be brandy soaked
and asphodels on the hills
are linked by cloud bridges.
in the coffeehouse
it is not a cathouse of the rising
sun or the deathwagon of the beat
generation, but a bridge of clouds
to a new culture
a bridge to a new sun is rising
and the grass at last is conquering
the ashes of the necropolis...
Cleveland Undercovers
sometimes city
when i walk at night
i slip into your past or future
and there is nothing
except walking at night
and silence
i close my eyes and enter Carters
RED House Boozery seeking
and finding but not understanding
until i reopen my eyes
and i find myself in the Blue Jug Jail
of the past
(For the Last Time)
the city changes her face in an
attempt to control me but now i yell
my this lifes name at her.
she crumbles in confusion
and i wonder -
what did i expect to find in this poem
a key? an answer?
there is only the city as i pretend to
see it and my self as i pretend to see
it
so Now i sip tradition within'the
coffee stained walls of the Acropolis
Cafe as the old men play card games
i have not learned,
i sip turkish coffee
and devour honey covered baklava
thinking of should be brandy soaked
and asphodels on the hills
are linked by cloud bridges.
in the coffeehouse
it is not a cathouse of the rising
sun or the deathwagon of the beat
generation, but a bridge of clouds
to a new culture
a bridge to a new sun is rising
and the grass at last is conquering
the ashes of the necropolis...